My Sinatra
by Zhe-Ubermensch
Summary: "Eddie." "No, Emma," I remind him. "No, you're Emma. Emma Gibbens. I'm Eddie. Eddie Gluskin. Emma. Eddie. You. Me." His name is Eddie, and it fits so well, and it makes me happy and I want to hug him, but this fence is in the way, so I just push my hand against the fence harder. harder against his hand, and it slips a little because it's sweaty, but I stay. And he stays...
1. I want a girl

**_The Dream:_**

**I don't remember much of it. Really, I don't. And I don't know much about him; I didn't see the whole game. All I remember is his death.**

**But I still dreamed about Eddie Gluskin from ****_Outlast: Whistle blower_****. He was oddly kind to me. Protected me from all the other variants and inmates. I won't go into too much detail.**

**Now he's haunting me. And I hate it so dearly. I hate it so much, I hate ****_him_****.**

_**In other words: **I am SO sorry, but I'm, like, on a streak of Eddie Gluskin shipping and it's horrible and I think the only way to get it out is to write about it. __weeh_

* * *

Mount Massive Asylum. Quite the name. I always get the words mixed up. I'm dyslexic, you see. "Mount Asylum Massive." "Massive Asylum Mount." "Asylum Stupid Shit." Or ASS, in other words. To avoid having to say the whole thing, I just say "MAM." The orderlies get mad at me for not calling it right, but I'm a girl. It's an advantage here. They treat you better if you're a girl, I hear. So they don't do much to me in comparison to the men. A smack across the face. A shove into a wall. They never touch my neck. But the bruises on my back still make it hard to breathe.

I hate it here. I hate it so much. I want to die. It's sad here. Everyone is sad, or angry, or catatonic, so they can't hear or see you.

I hear _his _voice one night. Singing. I shouldn't be able to. The Male Ward is far away from here. Maybe he is outside. They let some of us walk about outside sometimes.

He has a slight lisp, I notice, and I like it, because I like lisps, because they make a voice sound gentle, and I know that I need lots of gentle in my life right now, because nothing is gentle and I don't like anything. But I like his voice and it makes me feel good and happy and I want to find him somehow and listen to him up close, and not listen to this echoey echo of him.

_"When I was a boy my mother often said to me  
Get married son and see how happy you will be."_

He sounds like Frank Sinatra to me, and I love it so much, and I want to wrap my arms around him and squeeze him so tight that he can't breathe so he knows that I hear him, that I understand. That I _understand_. That I'm his friend and that I want him to sing more for me and only me, and no other girl because that voice is mine, because it can make music and mine can't.

_"I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find,  
Who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind."  
_

This part always gets me. It scares me, because I don't know what the girlie he has in mind is like, and I'm afraid it is not me, so he will ignore me and not be my friend, because I have no friends here and I want a friend _oh so BADLY_, please know I am here, my Sinatra. Please sing for me.

_"I will have to look around until the right one I have found."_

* * *

My food is cold again, so I eat it quickly and try to scarf it down so I do not puke it back up, because the orderlies get mad when my food does not go down, and I don't want them to be mad at me, because then they hit me. Then I take my pills and savor the water they give me, because it gets rid of the icky taste and makes me not want to puke it up as much. Then I go back to my bed and sit there and wait to be let out to go pee, because I always have to pee after I eat, but I poop later, and I don't know why and it confuses me.

I don't move when the door opens, because they get scared if I move when the door opens and then they shoot me with the tazers, and it hurts and I want to curl inside out and pick all the pain away. But it's not the orderlies this time, it's a doctor, and he's wearing a white coat and thick glasses and he has a clipboard in his hand and he is staring at me and writing at the same time, and I don't know how he does that, because I can't do that. Then he looks up and smiles and says, "I am here to talk you, Emma. I just want to get to know you a little bit. I know you won't hurt me, right?"

And I nod, because I would never dream of hurting anyone, because death is a horrible, terrible thing, and I am afraid to die, too.

The doctor sits down across from me and smiles and points to his name-tag and says, "I am Doctor Wesley. Your name is Emma Gibbens, right?"

And I nod, because I'm too nervous to speak out loud, but this makes the doctor mad and he frowns and says, "Emma, I need you to speak for me. I need to get this audio taped so I can take notes on it later. Can you do that please?"

And I nod, but then I remember, and I say, "Yes," but it sounds all wrong because I haven't used my voice in such a long time so it sounds raspy, and I clutch my throat and clear it a few times before I feel comfortable and like I can actually speak, but Doctor Wesley waits and smiles, because I have spoken, and it makes me feel good to please him, and I smile back.

Then he asks me my name again, and I tell him that _is _my name, and he smiles again. "Good, I thought I had the wrong patient there for a second. Now, tell me, Emma. Do you know how long you've been here?"

I close my eyes and try to think, because it's easier for me to think that way, and I remember how many times I've gone to sleep. Two hundred and forty seven times. "Eight months," I tell him. It feels longer. It was longer.

"I'm sorry, but you've actually been here for nearly a year now. In fact, two days from now is your twelve month anniversary. I believe we need to get you on a sleeping schedule to help you monitor time better."

"I thought that every time I went to sleep, the sun came up for me," I said, confused. The sun goes down, and doesn't come back up unless I go to sleep, that's what it's always done, and I know that because the sun was always there when I opened my eyes.

"She has no sense of time," Doctor Wesley mumbled, and he took more notes on his clipboard.

"If I had a clock," I began, but he didn't let me finish, because he is asking me another question now.

"Emma, do you remember why you are here?"

And I shake my head, because I don't remember, all I remember is that I hate it here and the food is cold and there's no toilet in my room and that there's always a man singing at night.

"Speak out loud, Emma," he says again.

"No," I say. "I don't know why I'm here, all I know is that I hate it here and the food is cold and there's no toilet in my room." But I don't tell him about the singing man because I don't want him to get in trouble and I still want to hear him sing because it makes me feel good.

"You killed someone, Emma. You killed a living human being, and then abruptly forgot about it."

"That's not true!" I tell him. "I would never kill somebody, because killing is bad and you go to jail if you kill a person! I'm not in jail, so I didn't kill a person, it's obvious, you see, I didn't kill anybody!"

And then he smacks me, and all I can see is my hair in front of my face because I am looking down because I am ashamed for yelling at Doctor Wesley, because he _is _trying to help me. I see gray in my hair. It's only a little, but it's there, and I don't like it, because gray hair means you're getting older, and getting older means you're going to die, and I don't want to die, so I just pay attention to the brown hair, and then I tell the doctor, "Sorry Doctor Wesley. I don't remember who I killed."

But I know I didn't kill anybody, because I would never kill anybody because killing is bad, so I just say that to make him happy, because sometimes you have to lie to make the doctors happy, and then I remember I have to pee so I ask him, "Can I go pee please?"

Doctor Wesley says, "No, Emma, we're not done yet."

"Who did I kill?" I ask him, but he won't tell me, because there's something about "ruining progress", and I know ruining progress is bad because then there's no progress and you have to start all over and that's not good.

"What was your childhood like, Emma? Can you tell me that, dear?"

I don't know why he's calling me dear, but I tell him, "I remember that my sister and I played together a lot, just us, because my mom smoked and only did what Dad said was okay, and that wasn't much besides cleaning and going to get groceries. And sometimes Dad would call my sister away and when she came back, she wouldn't talk for some reason, and her hair would be messy and it was hard for her to swallow."

"So she was raped?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," I told him, "but Charlie never told me to use that word."

"Charlie?"

"Charlie is my sister."

"Is your sister..." He put his pen to his chin and tapped it there, and I tapped my fingers on my leg because that seemed to be a good thing to do, to do what the doctor was doing. "Oh, yes, I remember. You wanted to see her before you came here, but she was busy getting ready to move, you said?"

"She wanted to go far away from Dad."

"It's a pity she didn't say goodbye to you, dear."

And I still don't know why he's calling me dear, but I don't like it very much, it gives me a queasy feeling in my stomach. "I miss her," I say to him. "When will she come visit?"

"When she has the time, Emma."

And then he lets me go pee, which makes me happy, because I really have to pee and I'd been holding it in this whole conversation, and when I come back, there's a clock on the wall, but I can't see the numbers too well because there's a metal crate blocking the clock, and I find that that's okay, because I still have a clock, so now I can tell the time.

I have new pills, though, and I don't like that too much, but it's all I can do, so I take them and then I lay down, and when the orderlies leave, _he _starts singing again, and I smile, because my friend hasn't left me yet and that's good, because he's the only one I like here, the only one who hasn't hurt me.

My Sinatra.

"_I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad  
She was a pearl and the only girl that Daddy ever had,  
A good old fashioned girl with heart so true,  
One who loves nobody else but you,  
I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad._"


	2. Nightmares

The first time I see him is like a dream, because he's just _there_, just over the fence that separates us, and I want to run to him because I know _that voice _and I want to compliment him and introduce myself, but I can't run to him because the orderlies are leading me because I have testing to do to see if I am better, so I just call to him, "What's your name?"

And he stops singing and stares at me with deep blue eyes and I stare back with my green ones and I smile, but he just stares with no smile and I know he might be a little more gone than I am because of it. There are orderlies with him too, and they pull him back gently and he doesn't get to answer me, and then I am sad because I still do not know my Sinatra's name.

Testing hurts today, and I do not like it, not one bit. I actually hate it, but I usually only like to use that word to describe MAM. MAM is hate, and nothing more. It is built on hate and driven by hate and funded by hate and I am very certain that it will die by hate too. Hate is a horrible thing, but this place is Hate.

They put needles in me and they make me drink something icky, and then they take off my clothes and run fur all over me, and it shouldn't hurt because fur is soft, but it feels like a dozen needles are poking me and I want them to stop but they don't, at least not until I'm crying and shaking and my arms can't move anymore they hurt so bad. They say it failed, and that makes me sad because that means I didn't help them, but I'm glad it's over.

On my way back to my room, the orderlies decide it's break time so they just warn me not to make a lot of trouble because I can't go anywhere, and they sit off to the side and pull out some cigarettes, and I go away from them because I don't like cigarettes.

My Sinatra is at the fence again within a few minutes, and he's looking at me again, and his orderlies aren't paying attention either. I walk up to where he is and I smile at him and I ask him, "What's your name?"

But he just stares back at me again, so maybe he wants to hear my name before he'll say his, so I say, "My name is Emma Gibbens, and I have brown hair and green eyes and a funny freckle on my breast right by my nipple and its funny because my mom has it in the same place too."

And this seems to interest him, because he looks up into my eyes and grins just a little bit, so I can hardly tell, but I see it there and it makes me happy because it means I am making him happy.

"Can I see it?" he asks. But then I have to shake my head and say, "No, my mom always told me not to let anybody look at it unless it's a doctor or her, or if it's my husband and we are having sex and he wants to kiss my boobs. She said some husbands like to do that."

"You want a husband?" he asks, and his grin gets a little more bigger, and I smile too.

"Yes, but I have to find the right one, and he has to be really nice and want to have lots of babies because my mom said there are lots of babies in Heaven that want to be born but they don't have anyone who will parent them, so I want to help four of those babies be born so that they aren't stuck in Heaven anymore, and I want to have three little boys and one little girl, and the boys will look out for their sister because she will be tiny and I want her to be the happiest little baby there is."

And then I am breathing heavy, because it was a lot to say in such a short amount of time, especially for me, because I don't like to talk much, but I'll talk lots if it will keep my Sinatra from leaving.

He puts his hand up to the fence and asks, "What's your name again?"

"Emma Gibbens."

And he smiles really wide, and I smile really wide too, because his grin is really pretty looking and his teeth are nice and straight and white, and I like his blue eyes, and I know he's my Sinatra because his voice is the same.

"Will you be here tomorrow, Emma?"

I think about it, and then I tell him, "I don't know, really, they don't bring me out a lot because they're afraid of me getting to cozy with moving around and they don't want me to be very strong." I show him my stick thin arms as proof, and it makes him frown, and that makes me sad because I like his smile. So I put my arms back down and tell him, "But I feel fine, honest, I do, I can still walk around all right, but it hurts me to stand for too long, so I lay down on my cot a lot."

"You should be stronger," he tells me. "They shouldn't be letting you grow so weak. You cannot birth children if you are so weak. Nor could you possibly handle conception. You should try to be stronger."

"Okay," I tell him. "You watch, next time you see me I'll have some muscle in my legs and I'll run over to you."

And then he smiles again, and I don't mind not knowing his name so much now, all I know is that I have a friend and he likes me too I think, and then the orderlies on my side are grabbing me and pulling me back, but I'm still smiling, but he's not smiling anymore, he looks very angry.

* * *

I walk around in my little room with the padded walls even though my legs and thighs hurt, because my Sinatra wants me to be stronger, so I have to work my little muscles to make them big muscles so he'll be happy again next time I see him, and then I think, should my arms be stronger too? That's what he saw that made me so weak.

So I lie down on the floor on my belly and push myself up with my arms and hands over and over again until I can't do it anymore, and it's not much, maybe only ten or twenty, so I get back up and start walking around again. But then Doctor Wesley is back, so I have to stop or else he will know I am working out and that would be bad for him to know I think, so I sit down on my cot and try to control my breathing.

"Good afternoon, Emma. Sorry about earlier. We didn't know that drug would hurt you. We were trying to find a drug to put some life back into some of our less responsive patients. But you did very well," he assured me. "Next time, we'll use someone else, okay?"

And I nod, but then I realize that he'll probably want me to speak again, so I say, "That will be good."

And then he talks to me some more, asks me how I feel, and why I'm sweaty and breathing heavy, and I tell him, "I'm a little hot, but I'm okay." Then he asks me simple things that I already know, like how old I am (which is 34) and how long my hair is from root to tip (2 feet) and about the birthmark on my foot (it looks like a dinosaur, and it's light purple, so I call it Barney). He just wanted to know that the medicine he gave me didn't have long side effects. But I feel good, I tell him. But then I get a really good idea.

"Am I a good patient, Doctor Wesley?" I ask him. He looks up from his notes and looks a little surprised.

"Of course you are, Emma. You do very well in comparison to the other females, even some of the other men. Why do you ask?"

"Can I have a reward?" I ask him. Then I add "please" to the end, because that always did me good when I wanted a candy from the gas station.

"I don't know, Emma," he says, and he scratches his graying beard. "What did you have in mind?"

And then I tell him, "I want to go outside more often, because the air gets a little stuffy in here and I like the way the sun feels, because it's different from the heater, and the wind from the air conditioning is not the same as the wind from outside."

And he thinks about it long and hard and I'm looking at him really hard trying to tell him with my mind that I really want this and that I won't cause any trouble, and he says with a smile, "Promise not to kill anybody?"

"I promise, that's an easy promise, because killing is bad and I wouldn't ever kill somebody because you go to jail if you kill somebody and I'm not in jail, so I've never killed anybody which means I won't do it ever."

"Patient is still in denial," he mutters. Then he says, "I will see if I can alter your schedule for you. Going outside for an hour or two shouldn't be a problem, Emma. I'll talk to my superiors and see what they have to say."

And I smile and say, "Thank you," just how my mom taught me to when somebody does something nice for me. And then he leaves so I get up and walk around again to make my body stronger because that's what my friend, my Sinatra wants, and I want him to be happy, so that means I have to get stronger for him.

Then when I lay down to go to sleep, I hear him singing again, and it's then that I realize that the sound is echoing through the air vents all the way to me, for me, _just _for me, and I fall asleep to the sound of his voice singing _to _me, because I am tired from trying to please him by making myself stronger.

And I dream of him. My Sinatra. But the fence is gone, and I can touch him, _feel _him, and I'm so pleased that I want to scream and he hugs me and it feels good and he says, "We're best friends forever, Emma."

"Yes please," I answer. "Yes please."

And then we are walking in a forest, but the trees are bare and dead, but the grass is really green, and there are flowers and the sun is shining, but it's all flashing because the clouds are moving really fast.

But there are two little girls at the end of the wood, and I need to talk to them and I don't know _why _but I do. I try to get him to come with me, but his feet won't move. His face is suddenly scarred and wet with tears, and I don't know what to do or who to go to. Those little girls... I have to say _something_. Anything.

But it's too late, and the shadow comes and takes the little blonde girl away, and the little brunette girl screams, and my Sinatra covers his ears and screams too, and I don't know who to go to, who to comfort, and then everything shatters.

I wake up. My wrists are bleeding profusely. There are bite marks all over, and a doctor I don't know is taking care of me, but he says nothing. It makes me cry. _What HAPPENED?_


	3. Emma and Eddie

It takes a week for the changes to be made, but it happens, and now I can go outside every day for an hour and a half under the supervision of my orderlies, but I know they won't be paying much attention, so it doesn't matter that they're there. It makes me happy, and I dance in my room even though there is no music.

They let me out the next day, lock all the doors so I have no where to go, and I go to the fence and he's just coming out, and he sees me and walks over to me and he's smiling even though he has a bruise on his cheek that looks like it hurts a lot.

I show him my arm, and he looks and nods his approval. "Stronger," he mumbles.

"Yes, I am," I beam. "And it hurts because it is sore, but it won't be sore for long and then it will stop hurting, and then I'll make myself stronger."

"That's a good idea," he agrees. "It is important to be strong so that you can bear children. You said you wanted children."

"But only if I find the right man, and I don't know if that will happen, because my mom says that a lot of people are like Dad," I explain with a little disdain in my voice. "Dad was bad. He did bad things and hurt me a lot of times."

His smile goes away, and he's angry, and he pounds on the fence and hisses through clenched teeth, "Not you too! No!"

"I'm okay though," I tell him. I spin around and show him how healthy I am. "See? I'm healthy. He didn't hurt me too bad, it was my sister that he hurt-"

And then suddenly my voice is dry and I can't think, and my head hurts too, and I hold it.

"Emma?" he asks a little worried. "Emma, _darling_, are you all right?"

"Yes," I tell him, but my head still hurts, and I have to sit down on the grass, and he sits down too. I hear screaming, but no one is screaming, and I think it's in my head, but I don't want it to be because that would mean I'm "degrading" and Doctor Wesley says that's very bad and that my drug dosage will have to increase a lot, and I might have to get shots too.

And when I can finally see again outside of the pain, his hand is on the other side of the fence, as if he's trying to reach out to me, and I put my trembling hand there too, but I don't know _why _it's trembling, it just _is_.

"Eddie."

"No, Emma," I remind him.

"No, _you're _Emma. Emma Gibbens. _I'm _Eddie. Eddie Gluskin. Emma. Eddie. You. Me."

His name is Eddie, and it fits so well, and it makes me happy and I want to hug him, but this fence is in the way, so I just push my hand against the fence harder. harder against his hand, and it slips a little because it's sweaty, but I stay. And he stays, and he's smiling really wide.

"You will make a wonderful wife," he promises. "You just have to get out of here."

But that's the problem, because I don't know when I'll get out or if I ever will, and that makes me sad because I want to have four children, three little boys and one little girl. And I tell him this, and he just laughs, and it offends me at first, but then he backs away and leans back and says, "You just have to be good. They'll let you out if you are good and listen."

I know it's true. But it's hard, especially when they lie to you about you killing people, because I've never killed anybody because killing is bad.

He can sense that I am upset, so he squeezes his hand through the fence and takes my hand, and it makes me happy because it is a sign of friendship, and then he says, "It's okay, Emma, _darling_, you can get out of here."

And then his face looks really sad, and so I ask him, "Why are you sad?"

He smiles to hide the sadness, but it's still there, and a tear rolls down his cheek. "I'm going to be here for a very long time, Emma. I don't think I'll ever get out. I have done one thing too many wrong, you see, and only because I can't find the perfect girl for me. I've lost track if where I've looked, my dear. But I hope she is near."

"I do too," I say to him. I want him to find his perfect girl and be happy, but only if it means that we can still be friends and he will still talk to me.

I know he will. He'll talk to me. He likes me.

Then his smile goes away for some reason, and he pulls his hand back through the fence with some difficulty. He stares at it like it's infected. It makes me sad. But after he wipes it off on his inmate uniform, he smiles again and looks at me just like he did before.

"I always wanted a family," he told me. "Just like you. But I don't want any more than seven, because eight is an unlucky number. And I want my wife to be kind and look out for them, unlike..." His gaze goes glassy, and I don't think he sees me anymore even though he is looking right at me, because I do that sometimes too. But he isn't gone long, he comes back quickly.

"I will be a great father," he promises. "I'll look out for every last child my wife births, until they are grown and gone, and even then I'll still protect them. I'll love them with every bit of my soul and heart, because they deserve nothing less. Including my wife."

And then I think of how noble he is, to be so selfless to want to look out for his family like that, and it makes me happy.

"You _will _be a great father," I tell him. "You'll have lots of children and they will grow up to be good and kind, just like you." And Eddie laughs, and I laugh too, and it makes us happy.

And then I want to hear him sing. So I ask him. "Will you sing for me, Eddie? I love your voice very much."

And he smiles and exclaims, "Of course!" He clears his throat and thinks of a song to sing. Then, he has it.

"_The very thought of you and I forget to do  
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do  
I'm living in a kind of daydream  
I'm happy as a king  
And foolish though it may seem  
To me that's everything."_

The sound of his voice was so soothing to me, I couldn't help but lean my head against the fence and loose myself in that delicious sound.

"_The mere idea of you, the longing here for you_  
_You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you_  
_I see your face in every flower_  
_Your eyes in stars above_  
_It's just the thought of you_  
_The very thought of you, my love._"

I felt his breath move closer to my ear, and I smiled. He obviously wanted me to hear him better.

_"The mere idea of you, the longing here for you  
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you  
I see your face in every flower  
Your eyes in stars above  
It's just the thought of you  
The very thought of you, my love."_

Eddie moved away, and I shivered at the sudden loss of heat. When I looked at him, his eyes were half lidded, and there was a pleased smirk playing at his lips. I only had sense enough to stare at him as I tried to decipher what it meant. That look made me want to hold him very close to me, and not let him go for a very long time, and my stomach and legs and everything in between was suddenly very hot, but in a good way and I didn't know what to say or do. I licked my lips, trying to put together a coherent sentence.

"I hear you from my room," I tell him. "It echoes through the air ducts."

"I know. It's shaped in such a way as to minimize the loss of sound and direct the majority of the sound to the Female Ward. I know."

"Will you sing me to sleep?" I ask him quietly. "Please?"

"Of course, _darling_," Eddie purrs. "Every night of every week of every month of every year, forever and ever. I'll be your Frank Sinatra."

My breath catches at the irony. _My Sinatra, _I think to myself. _Mine, and mine alone_.

"Will you talk back to me if you can?" he asks. Who am I to say no?

* * *

He does sing to me every night for a whole month, a new song every night, and we talk. Sometimes we're interrupted by another inmate complaining, but they stop soon. They never perk their heads again at our sound. They know we'll stop eventually.

We talk during the day. He brings me flowers sometimes, but we both know I can't keep them. We aren't allowed to bring unauthorized objects into our cells. Wait, when did I start calling them "cells"? They're rooms, not cells. Cells are cold and hard and make you lonely. My room isn't a cell, I know that. It's not hard, and I'm not lonely. I have Eddie to talk to. He's always there for me. My Sinatra.

Sometimes, he asks me to sing, too, but I don't know much. All I know is some Ella Fitzgerald and _his _song. "I want a girl," I think he said it's called. So I sing him that, and it's enough.

I tell him about Charlie, too. How close we are, how we always used to play together. I don't talk about Dad to him. It makes him angry, and he scares me when he's angry. He yells really bad things for a really long time. I don't tell him much about my mom, because she didn't do anything worthy of talking about.

He doesn't tell me much. Just that he didn't come from a good home and that he wants his children to have a better home to come to than what he had. It makes me smile, some of the things he has in mind.

"Have you killed anyone?" I ask him once when we're outside. He doesn't answer me, so I just keep talking.

"They say I killed somebody, but I know they're lying, because killing is bad and you go to jail if you kill somebody and I'm not in jail so I know I didn't kill anybody."

"Oh," he says.

"You go to Hell if you kill," I tell him. "Because God doesn't like killers. He put everyone on this earth for a reason, not for them to die like that."

Eddie doesn't answer me, he just asks a question.

"Am I going to Hell? Can I... can I repent?"

"You killed somebody?" I ask. But I know the answer, and I don't mind, because yes, he can repent. He can become good again, I know because he's been good to me, so he can be good to everybody. I can help him.

"You will be all right in the eyes of God," I tell him as he cries. "He can forgive you. He forgives anyone that sees the light. My dad never saw the light, so he's in Hell now," I tell him. And then there it is, and my head hurts again and my throat dries up and I can't swallow, and I have to lie down in the grass until the pain goes away, far away, until it's like it never happened.

I feel his hand on my back, and it speeds the process. Eddie's good to me like that.


	4. Patience

He stopped coming. For two weeks, I didn't see or hear from him. I got scared. My progress failed, the tests felt longer and the nights felt colder, and he didn't sing anymore if he was even in there. All there was was a panicked mumbling, and I don't even know if it was his.

They started giving me shots. It made my arms feel funny, and my legs got really weak, so I couldn't walk around anymore very much. I still went outside, and I tried to walk around and do things, but it was hard. My neck felt very swollen.

I started seeing things. Sometimes, there would be a gun in my hand, and no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to get it out of my hand, it would stay there. At the end of the hall outside my room, there was a little girl, but she was just a shadow. I couldn't see details on her because she was all black and she warped a little sometimes.

I just curl up in a ball on the floor behind my bed until all the bad things go away, like the little girl and the gun in my hand and the angry voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Dad.

They make me naked for the tests now, and run their hands all over my body, and I don't get how this is a part of the testing, but they tell me that it's necessary, and I can't argue anyways, and at least they aren't hurting me when they do it. But then they pull out their cocks and I see Dad high above me, looking down with that angry, flushed look, and I scream really really loud and close my eyes really tight, and when I open them again, I'm back in my room, but there's blood in my hair and their seed on my back, they put on my uniform without cleaning me off, so it's still there and it's cold and sticky. I try to rip it off, but my arms are tied. I can't itch or straighten my hair or get clean or anything.

Other than those major things, along with some more hitting and pushing, nothing much has changed at MAM. It's refreshing and depressing at the same time, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It seems like I never know what to do.

On the sixteenth day without seeing him outside, he started singing again, and I almost shouted with joy, until I realized that he was singing nonsense. I couldn't understand a thing he was saying over the air ducts.

Only then do I cry. Because I think Eddie's gone. Whatever they did to him didn't help him like they said they would help me. Eddie's gone, gone, and I can't see all of a sudden, and my world goes black.

* * *

The next thing I remember is that he's at the fence again. His hair has been shaved off of the sides of his head, and the strip he still has at the top is messy. He has rings under his eyes, and there are frown marks all over his face, and there's a spot on his cheek that's blue and black and there are cuts all over his neck.

I crawl over to him slowly once my orderlies aren't paying attention, and I don't think he even sees me even though he's looking right at me. He has a weed with a flower at the end in his hand, but it has thorns so he's bleeding because he's holding it really tight. He's humming his "I Want a Girl" song, but his voice is shaky and raspy like he hasn't used it in a long time.

"Eddie..?" I whisper once I'm close enough. The humming only gets louder the closer I get. "Eddie," I try again. "Eddie, it's me. Emma."

He stops humming. The weed falls from his hand where he sits.

Then, he keeps humming.

"Don't hurt me, Uncle," he mutters. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to..."

A lump swells in my throat, I put a hand on my side of the fence, and I try again, but louder.

"Eddie."

"Daddy, please don't do it..."

"Eddie."

"Daddy-"

"Eddie!"

He screams and scrambles away from the fence as if I had... as if I had _smacked _him. He holds up his hands, chanting, "Don't hurt me, please, please, I didn't mean to, don't hurt me, please, please."

And then there he is again, Dad, and he's got me planted firmly on his lap and he's smacking my face and bucking his hips up into me, and I'm screaming, "Don't hurt me, please, please! Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" And I can't hear, or smell, or see, all I can taste is sweat and salt and blood and all I can feel is the roaring pain in my gut because he's too big and I can't take him, and my mom just doesn't care, doesn't _care_, and Charlie is somewhere _far away, _because she's never in the same room as I am when Dad is around._  
_

And then there's just the feeling and nothing else. The feeling of that _thing _sliding inside of me. The feeling of that thing spurting its contents into me, sliding out, brushing my nose and mouth so I smell what a _disgrace _I am. So I _taste _what he's done to me.

Eddie's hand isn't there when I come back. Eddie isn't there. He's at the other side of his side of the fence, as far from me as he can be. His tears are falling freely now, and he's grabbing his arms really hard like he's trying to shrink into himself.

I stand up and lean against the fence heavily, and I cry too, because Eddie isn't there, he isn't _there_. He isn't here _or _there. He's nowhere.

When I don't move when the orderlies come to get me, they yell and hit me and kick me to get me to get up, and Eddie just _looks. He just looks._

"Eddie!" I scream. "_**Eddie**_**_!_**"

"Emma?"

It's all I hear before I see him run towards me, and yank and shove at the fence, and then he's on the ground with his orderlies tackling him, and the doors close. The sound reverberates in my head until I'm safe and sound in my cell.

Only now do I know it's a cell. This is no room. And this is no home.

I have to get out. I have to get _us _out.

* * *

"I know you," he murmurs the next day, and puts his hand on the fence. I lace my fingers through it and grasp his hand loosely, so he can still pull away if he has to.

"I know you too. Your name is Eddie Gluskin."

"Yes."

He is shaking.

"Do you remember my name, Eddie?"

His brow furrows, and he thinks hard and long. "My... my-my _darling_..."

"Eehh... Ehh... mmmm..." I try to remind him. "Eeeehhhh-"

"Eddie."

"No, Eddie. You're Eddie. I'm Ehh-"

"Emma! Emma! Emma, _darling!_"

And he grins, and that lisp in his voice is back, even though I hadn't even noticed it had vanished, and he grasps my hand tighter.

"Yes!" I exclaim. "Yes! Emma! You remember!"

"Emma, _darling_!"

"Eddie, you were afraid of me yesterday, why?" I try to ask him. The glimmer in his eye leaves as quickly as it came.

"I can't touch women anymore." The realization hits him, and he yanks his hand away, staring at it like it's infected again. "They said I did bad things, very very bad. No more bad, they say, they lock me in with the nurses, say, 'Do not touch, or we lock you up', very bad."

"You can touch me," I say to him. "I don't mind, really."

He looks uncertain, scared. but he grazes my hand with his fingertips, and shudders. Then he skitters away, but only a little.

"I can't."

There's an undeniable fear in his eyes, and he's grasping his hand and rubbing it anxiously. My heart aches to see him like this.

"You _can_," I tell him. "Just don't hurt them. Don't hurt me. And if they say you are hurting them, then stop. You shouldn't have to stay away from them completely."

He looks at me with tired blue eyes, staring at me, taking my features into detail, making sure I am telling the truth. I plead to him with only my eyes. His hand mashes against the fence again, against mine, and he's panting as if the action is difficult, but he looks very proud, very happy, and he starts stroking my palm.

"Smooth," he says. Then his cheek is on my hand, and his breathing slows and gets normal. He relaxes, leans into it. I feel his skin, and he's still shaking, but he's here, _here _with me.

"I'll save us both, my Sinatra," I promise him. "I'll fix you, and then we both can leave. We can leave together, and if we can't, then I'll wait for you. I'll wait for as long as it takes."

He hums happily into my hand, not really listening. I sigh.

"Take all the time you need, Eddie."

* * *

Two weeks later, they tie me to the bed. I don't know why, but they do. and then someone comes in and cuts a section out of my wall to fix some wiring problems. His name-tag says Park. I say hello to him, but he doesn't reply. He just glances at me nervously.

"I'm Emma." I smile, but he just keeps playing with the wires. "I have brown hair and green eyes and a funny freckle on my breast right by my nipple and its funny because my mom has it in the same place too."

He fumbles with his pliers at that last part, and then he looks at me. Looks scared. Scared of me. Then I remember the dried blood in my hair and the bruises on my face and arms, and I just laugh.

"I must look quite a sight, I know, but I'm okay. My arms feel funny though from the shots they give me."

Snip. A wire breaks.

"It doesn't feel amazing, but I will pull through it, because I'm getting stronger in mind and body."

Snip. But he's shaking now.

"And when I leave, I'll find a good man to be the father of my kids, but he has to be really nice and want to have lots of babies because my mom said there are lots of babies in Heaven that want to be born but they don't have anyone who will parent them, so I want to help four of those babies be born so that they aren't stuck in Heaven anymore, and I want to have three little boys and one little girl, and the boys will look out for their sister because she will be tiny and I want her to be the happiest little baby there is. Do you have a wife, Mr. Park?"

No snip. He's looking at me now, and the shaking has stopped. But his lip is trembling.

"I... do."

"What's her name?"

"... L-Lisa."

I lay back on my pillow, because my neck is starting to hurt from looking at him.

"Lisa. That's a nice name. My name is Emma."

"I heard you the first time!" he exclaims, but then he's quiet again. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I tell him. "It won't be the first time I get yelled at, or the last."

Mr. Park is shaking again. He hastily puts the pad back in place on the wall, and leans against it. His eyes are watery.

"They shouldn't be treating you the way they are. It's not right."

"Oh, it's alright, because if I'm good, they'll stop." I frown, then. "But I must not have been very good lately, because they beat me a lot-"

He presses something into my arm- a shot- and ejects the contents into my bloodstream. I'm used to it now, so I hardly wince. Then I look at him because I am confused as to why he would do that. I know he is not a doctor. He doesn't have the authority to do that.

"Steroids," he vaguely clarifies. "You'll remember, Emma. Th-that's all I can say. Go to sleep, you'll be fine."

Before I can react, he's gone, and my door is shut, and I suddenly feel queasy, and I have a massive headache and-

_oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god __oh god oh god oh god oh god _**_________________________________________________OH GOD MAKE IT_**_** STOP**_-


	5. Memories

_There is a penis in this chapter. That is all._

_-Dylawa_

* * *

**_I killed my father._**

I didn't want to admit it, and I wanted to forget so much, that I did, with horrible consequences.

I forgot everything else.

* * *

_"Charlie, where are you going?"_

_"Oh, Emma, uh, hi, hi Emma, hi. Um, I was just going to a party-"_

_"Can I come too? I promise I'll be good, I swear-"_

_"I-I'm sorry, Emma, but you can't come."_

_"Why?"_

_"Y-you're not invited, okay? Is that enough?"_

_"Why?"_

_"It's- it's- we're celebrating Dad's promotion-"_

_"You hate Dad."_

_"SSSHHH! No, I don't! He-he takes care of us, so I love him-"_

_"You hate him."_

_"I do no-"_

_"He _hurts _you!"_

_"Emma, ENOUGH!"_

* * *

My ears ring, and I thrash in my bed. I can't move, and it's suddenly too hot and I want to either freeze or just _melt_, just melt and get it over with.

I forgot Charlie didn't like me.

* * *

"**_Where is she?! WHERE IS SHE!?_**_"_

_"Dad, let her rest! Please, she's had a hard day-"_

_The sound of a smack echoes._

_"Where is Emma!?"_

_Footsteps. Loud and fast._

_"EMMA, YOU LITTLE **SLUT! **Come here!"_

* * *

Someone is calling for me, but I don't know who, I don't see or hear anything beyond what's in my head.

I forgot it was _me _who Dad raped, not Charlie.

* * *

_Mom. She's in her mother's rocker. Charlie's in her lap, I'm on the floor. She's looking out the window._

_"My best friend always sang this song to me, and he turned into your father, you know. Your REAL father. If only he was still here."_

_"Sing it again, Mommy."_

_"Alright, Charlie, stop squirming, please!"_

_Mom smiles._

_"_If you catch me, will I fall? If you hold me, will I be cold? We have been through every trial, every fire, but something's wrong. Can you see me when I'm gone? Will you listen to my silence? Should I tell you how I felt when you came into my life?"

_The sun is shining through the window. Mommy looks so pretty. I wish I had her hair. It's red, like Charlie's._

_"_When I found you, I was fine, but somehow... I got switched around."

_Mom laughs, and I see clearer than I'd ever seen before, and I realize that our curtains are brown, and there's a picture of Dad, my REAL dad, on the table next to her. I'm sitting on wood and not tile like I thought. My room is _upstairs_. When was the sky blue!? I'm holding a doll._

_"_Now everything is backwards, up is down, left is right. I don't want you, but I need you, and if none of that can change, So be it."

* * *

Tears, hot and wet, stream down my face. I remember, _I remember_, I remember it **all**.

He didn't love me because I wasn't _his_. I was _never _his. I was a _toy_.

Charlie was blind to it all. "Be good, and he'll be good back to you."

But I was good. I _was_. He hit Mom, he hit Charlie, he hit me, and nobody knew but me, it seemed.

I shot him.

* * *

_His blood is beneath me, there's a gun next to his head. Oh God, I think. Oh God, he shot himself, oh God, oh **God. **I know it's not true. I know.  
_

_Mom will be upset, she'll be very upset, because now she can't buy more cigarettes, and she won't celebrate my twenty first birthday, and I won't get to buy alcohol or get laid like everyone says is so fun, I'll be in jail with lots of scary people._

_I don't hide his body. It looks like a suicide as it is, no need to make it look like a murder._

_I shower. I sleep. I forget. And I forget Mom's song, and Dad, and Charlie, because of the shock. And then, thirteen years later, they know it was me, and they want to send me to jail, but I'd been growing more and more distant from the guilt and shock, that they just committed me._

_And I come here. Here, to Hell._

_Charlie wasn't moving. Charlie didn't say goodbye to me because she hated me. She didn't want to see me anymore._

_Now that I remember, I can't remember a single time where she smiled at me. Bitterness is all I see._

* * *

When the visions stop, I'm strapped to a different table. There are lots of needles in me and machines monitoring me. There are doctors everywhere, looking at me. Then Doctor Wesley is there, and he's looking down at me, but he's not smiling, and he licks a thin stripe up the side of my neck and breathes heavy against my neck.

I hate him.

"Good morning, Emma, I see you have calmed down, dear." Now he grins, and holds up a pill for me to see. "You had an allergic reaction to some sort of, ah, mix-up in your prescription, but don't worry, I've readjusted it, and this one pill here should take care of everything. We'll give it to you to take when you get back to your room."

I don't smile. I can't, because there's a big tube in my mouth going down my throat to my stomach. But even if I could, I wouldn't.

They aren't helping me. They aren't helping anyone. These people that are upset to a breaking point are being used for _what gain!? _What are they getting for this abuse?!

My heart rate increases, according to the monitor. Doctor Wesley laughs.

"Oh, is someone getting a little _excited_? Well, I would help you take care of that if I had the time, dear, but I have other little shits to take care of."

I want to spit on his stupid, stupid little grin. Some more doctors come in along with some guards, and they waste no time with the news they have to share.

"Wesley, Eddie is acting up again, yelling something about his 'darling' Gibbens and babbling that song he always-"

He cuts the doctor off with a forced laugh. "Hold on now, Firn, did you say 'Gibbens'?"

"Yeah, are you deaf? Gibbens. Emma Gibbens."

I start screaming around the tube in my mouth and I start thrashing, because I know that this isn't going to end well, and they're going to do horrible, _horrible _things to him. They're going to undermine all of the healing I have done for him, with him, to him. Wesley sees my reaction, and he grins and starts laughing.

"They must go outside at the same time, don't they? Is that why you wanted to go out, you little bitch? Wait, are- are you in LOVE? Are you two in love with each OTHER?!"

_No! _I scream in my mind, because I don't love him, because that would mean that I would want to kiss him, but I don't want to kiss him, I just want to make him better. Fix him so he can get out of here and find his perfect wife.

Wesley is laughing with tears in his eyes. "They're in fucking love! Oh my God, this is priceless, are the cameras rolling? I want to see this again later, Emma is in LOVE!? HAHAHA! She- oh my God, she doesn't know, does she? If that fence wasn't there, she would know, can I tell her? Oh, please let me tell her."

One of the higher up doctors shrugs and mumbles, "Whatever, she's the last female here anyways. We forgot to ship her out with the rest."

"Oh, yeah, that was, what, six months ago? Seven? Yeah, you heard him, you bitch. You're the last girl here in the entire building."

It's enough to make me stop struggling.

"But that's not what I really wanted to tell you, no. Uh, in the meantime, sign up Eddie boy for Project Walrider, why don't you, Firn?"

Walrider?

Wesley moves the table I'm laying on just so, and then he's straddling my hips and glaring down at me, and he starts grinding on me.

"You see, Emma, Eddie's here because he's a murderer. That's right, he's one of those people you look down on so heavily. He killed so many women, mutilating them in horrible, dastardly ways, all to find the perfect bride. The only thing that stopped him from killing you too was the fence between you two. Ironic, that the only friend you make here is the one who probably wants to kill you the most."

He pulls his cock out of his pants and starts jerking off above me, aiming right for my chest.

"Oh, you're probably devastated, huh? Little slut. Hah... well, don't worry about it, alright? We're gonna take care of Eddie. We're gonna make it so you can never see him again, so he can't hurt you, so you're only _mine_, oh Jesus, yes! My little _whore_!"

He comes in quick, thick spurts on me, and I only have sense enough beyond my rage to be glad none of it reached my face.

When he's finally spent, he leans down close to my face and breathes, "Eddie Gluskin is a _monster_, girl. It'd be good for you to remember that, Emma."

And then they're pumping some sort of gas into my nose, and when I breathe it in, I get more and more sleepy, until the world fades in a haze of dark, crimson red. Not from blood, but from my hatred towards him, and every other person in this place.

Even my Sinatra.

* * *

Push ups are a piece of cake now. It's the last thing I remember thinking about before the lights start to flicker. Power outages are rare here, so I'm taken by surprise by it.

It had been nearly a month since Eddie and I were separated. They didn't block off the air vents until two weeks ago when they realized we could talk to each other that way. I haven't spoken to anyone since then. I don't care that I'm the last girl here. It doesn't matter to me. What I care about is what they're doing to Eddie. I know it's bad, the last time I was able to talk to him, he was barely lucid. But there's nothing I can do. I'm stuck here in my own personal hell.

I've been hiding the pills they're trying to give to me in a hole in my mattress, but they either don't care or don't notice, because they haven't force-fed me. They're probably too caught up in having to look after the male patients.

Did you think I would be more furious about my past and what I've done? It's water under the bridge. Don't let what's in the past bother you, I told myself. Just let the present and potential future dictate your actions and reactions. Your past is nothing here. I don't talk about Charlie or my mom or dad anymore. I don't need to.

The lights don't stop flickering. Not for three days. Then, I feel the floor shake violently, and the flickering stops. But the lights are dim, drained. My door opens, but there's no one there. I sit at my cot, staring at the opening. Something's wrong. Something is horribly wrong, and I'm afraid to move. I know I'm not in immediate danger, since the Female Ward is empty, save for me, but I don't know how many other doors have opened. How many other patients have been freed.

It's only when I hear screaming that I decide to run, It's the orderlies that look out for me. If they're in trouble, I'm surely not safe either. I peek just outside of my door, and I see it. A large, hulking shadow hovering over the dead bodies of my orderlies. I hyperventilate. The demon looks at me. I fall to my knees and cover my head and scream. I feel it envelope me, and I'm dragged to my feet, then I'm hovering above the ground, and this thing is holding me. I see that it has a humanoid form, but other than that, nothing about it is human.

I know I'm going to die.

But I don't. It sets me down, and vanishes. And that's it. I don't know what to do in response. I just stare where it was for a while, but when I hear crazed babbling announcing the approach of other inmates, I run again.

It looks like Hell isn't based just in my cell anymore.


	6. Chris and the Walrider

My first thought once I'm out of the hearing and seeing range of other inmates is that I have to get out of here while I have the opportunity. I don't know where the guards are, and I don't care either. They can burn in the seventh circle of Hell for all I care. But everyone is scattered and distracted. There isn't a better time.

Still, the appearance of that demon is still a little unnerving. What is it, and why did it spare my life? Questions I fear may never be answered, but I don't have time to brood on the fact. I have to leave before it changes its mind or I get caught by anyone else. I run down several corridors without rhyme or reason, only knowing that they head west, which is the direction that the entrance to MAM lies. When there are inmates, I take a close look at them before deciding whether it's safe to pass them or if I should just take a different route.

I'm wandering for a good twenty minutes before I see an inmate that must not have been here long, because he doesn't look like shit like everyone else- that, unfortunately, includes me. When I found a mirror, I took a good, long look at what I'd become. My left eye was blood red outside of the iris and pupil, and my hair was still matted and blood caked. There were scars of welts on my neck from where they'd sometimes chain me during the tests, and my cheeks were hollow and sunken in.

I hated to look at myself for too long, so I moved on.

The inmate I saw looked familiar, but I couldn't place a name to his face, which bugged me. He looked nervous, so I called to him with my hands raised.

"Hey, I-I'm fine. I'm not like the others, not anymore. I'm fine."

"... E-Emma?"

I know that voice. I know it, but who..?

He runs up to me, and his face looks even more familiar now, and I remember who he is. It's Park. I'm surprised when he pulls me into a hug, its really tight, but I hug him back. He must be scared. He isn't surrounded by these people every day like I know I am.

"Mr. Park, i-it's fine-"

"No! No, Emma, it's _not _fine! **_NOTHING _**is 'fine' right now! The Walrider has escaped, the inmates are on the loose, most everyone is dead, oh _God, _why, why, why!?"

He's sobbing. I don't know what to do, it's been so long since I've comforted a sane human being. So I just pat his back.

The Walrider must be the demon I saw who spared my life, and killed most everyone else. I ask if this is the case, and he nods and sobs a little harder. He says he knew it was bad from the moment they told him about it, and he knew it would get out of hand, but they didn't listen to him because they don't listen to anyone except themselves and their desires.

"I- I sent an email out of here to a journalist who I'm friends with, b-but I don't think it was such a good idea anymore. I shouldn't have involved him in this."

"We can't worry about that right now," I tell him. "We have to get out of here."

Mr. Park laughs anxiously. I notice that he looks a little burned, and he's got speckles of blood on him.

"G-good luck with that. All the main routes to the front exit have been blocked. We're not getting out of here without some clever thinking."

I promise him, "We'll find a way. Just stay calm, and everything will be fine."

He gulps, and nods. Then he points to a narrow crevice in a hall and says, "That's the only way I haven't gone yet that neither you or I have gone. I think we should try there, see if we can radio out of here to the police."

"Sounds good," I agreed. "If you're quiet, most of the inmates will ignore you, I've seen, so just keep it down, and we should be fine."

We slip through the crevice, and idly I think of how, before he'd given me that shot, I would have gone right up to him and babbled about how he was now my friend and that we would do everything together forever and ever. Oh, how deluded I was!

* * *

By the time we found a radio, it was long into the night, and we were both tired and frightened by all of the variants that had managed to get free. The radio was high up in a tower above the rest of the facility, and it took him some time to find the right station to call the police, despite Mr. Park's knowledge of technology and the like.

I wait in the corner of the room, curled up in the corner, thinking of how it all could have come to this. The facility was secure, and the orderlies, though probably not really certified, were well trained to deal with outbreaks, using lethal force or other. How could it possibly happen? And why, to boot? I shake my head and sigh. I just want to leave. This place is horrible, and even worse now.

And then, hope.

"_Leadville 911, what's your emergency?"_

Mr. Park, or Waylon, as I'd learned to call him, can't get a single word in before some man in a suit barges in, snatches the mouthpiece from him and smashes the radio to smithereens. He'd pushed Waylon away, and Waylon was too scared to fight back. There would be no point anyway; by the time he could have gotten back to the radio, it would have already been useless anyways. He scampered away, in my direction towards the door, but the suited man whammed him in the face with a bar, right on his nose. Blood gushed from the broken cartilage, and the man pressed the bar against his throat.

I'm too scared to move, too afraid of getting the same treatment. I was never known for being brave anyways.

"Waylon Park," the man hisses. "You couldn't just... you couldn't just keep your mouth shut. You couldn't just play along. But you're done talking now..."

Waylon's face is turning purple, but I still don't move. Then, suddenly, there's a crash in the distance. Something big is coming this way. The suited man senses it too, and backs off of Waylon, and he chokes as air rushes back into his lungs. Now standing, he trembles, takes a few steps back. He points the bar at Waylon and barks:

"Do me a favor and die here, Park."

He runs out of the room as the loud footsteps come closer. He didn't even see me. Waylon stumbles to his feet and exclaims, "We got to go, I think Chris is coming!"

"Who?"

He doesn't take the time to explain. He just grabs my arm and tugs me back the way we came, but he's there in the doorway. The man I assume to be Chris is definitely someone to fear. This beast _has _to be at least seven feet tall, and although he has a fair amount of fat, I know there's ridiculous muscle hiding under it all. He's at the other end of the room, sniffing around. His mouth is locked open with some sort of metal contraption, and I know it can't be pleasant. He sees us, and gives no warning as he charges.

"RUN!" Waylon shouts in my ear. We bolt around him- I narrowly miss his bulking arm- and dodge into the hall behind him, back the way _he _came rather than our own. At the end of the hall we're running down, the way is blocked by bookshelves and other junk. Waylon shoves me forward and exclaims, "Squeeze through, go! I'll be right behind you!"

It isn't hard for me to slip through the narrow crevice, but Waylon is struggling, and Chris is _right there_. He thrusts out an arm to snatch Waylon and undoubtedly kill him, but my arm reaches him first, and I pull him through to my side, but only just barely. He falls on top of me, and Chris roars in anger at having lost his prey, but wastes no time brooding over it. He sulks away bitterly, leaving the stench of his body and blood in his wake.

We pant from running so quickly, and from the rush of adrenaline, and Waylon props himself on his elbows and looks down at me.

"You okay?" he asks. I look at us both, all sweaty and tired, and I can't help but laugh. Waylon looks mad. "What!? What's so fucking funny!?"

"In any other circumstance, I wonder what your wife would think of us being like this." I laugh harder, and Waylon pouts.

"Ha ha, Emma. Look, we're in trouble. Our only means of communication has been thwarted. We have to find some other way out."

Getting back on his feet, he offers me his hand, and I take it eagerly. Pulling me to my feet, we continue down the halls until we see some sort of... _priest, _I guess. He's writing something in blood on the wall, but we don't stay to find out what it is. There's a hole in the floor, and Waylon lowers me into it before he himself hops down. I don't know if it was chivalrous or cowardly letting me go first in this instance.

Further through the halls, one of the orderlies sees us and panics. He throws the gate in front of him shut and places a heavy cabinet in front to prevent us from opening it. "One of them's coming!" he says. "It's not even **human **anymore!"

Waylon looks hurt at the insult, as his face contorts into mental agony. I lightly touch his shoulder to comfort him and say, "He was probably talking about me. You look better than I do."

"It must not be by much," he sulks. Then Chris is back.

"Little PIG!" he screams at us. I don't need to be told to run this time, but the problem is that we get separated. I go one way and Waylon goes another. Chris follows him, and I burst through countless doors to \get away from him, even though he isn't after _me_. Faintly, I think about Waylon and hope for his safety, but the thought fades quickly when I realize I was lost.

_Damnit_, I think to myself. _Lost again, you dumbass_, I tell myself. I don't even know which way is east or west anymore. But it's no use staying in one place, I figure. I'm getting hot, so I pull down the upper half of my prison clothes and take an undershirt I find later out of a locker in the female restroom. It's enough to keep me cool.

I end up outside again, and I don't know how, but it hits me pretty quick that I know this place. But the fence is broken down. This is where Eddie and I would meet. Where we would talk. But that was a month ago. That was before I knew what he was, and what he did to people like me. Yes, I still talked to him through the air vents, but that was to try to calm him and understand why he did the things he did, all to no avail.

The grass has died out here. I pick at the dead bits where I used to sit, and stare at Eddie's spot. There's no one here, so I'm not afraid to spend my time here. I am afraid when the Walrider pops out of the nearest window and points in the direction of my room. Although I doubt the demons motives, I know it's probably smarter to listen than to argue. So I move in the direction the finger bids me, back to where I came from. He doesn't follow, happy enough that I'm heading in the direction it wants me to.

I just go to my room, but the Walrider's there, in the door. He doesn't want me to go there, obviously. So I just walk past it, into uncharted territory. Deeper into the female ward, away from my freedom. All because of a stupid demon.


	7. Changed Faces

I crawl under a table hoping to rest in a way that will protect me from the other variants but let me sleep a while as well. It's something I desperately need, with how little I'd been sleeping lately. I rest my head on my arm and look around, making certain that I won't be disturbed here, but I don't last long until my eyes drift shut.

They snap open when I hear Eddie. His lisp is really strong now, and he's mumbling something about seeds.

I try to make myself seem smaller under the table I'm currently sitting under, and press myself against the wall behind me firmly. I can't let him find me. I _can't. _He'll kill me, according to Wesley. He'll kill me, and do horrible things to me.

The more I think about it, the less I believe it. No. Eddie wouldn't kill me. Would he? He wouldn't. He called me his friend, he called me darling. Should I take the risk?

I don't. His voice grows fainter, and disappears into the distance. Cautiously, I crawl out from under the table, and curiosity gets the better of me. I go in the direction in which he'd gone. When I hear him clearly again, I know I'm too close, but that isn't often, so I know I'm alright. He disappears behind some double doors when I see him again, and I creep up to the doors myself, peeking through the windows to the other side. My stomach lurches at the sight before me.

He's already amassed a horde of bodies, and they're all dangling from the ceiling by their necks. They're nude, some have their genitals missing, and some are completely redesigned to look like women. Only then do I know that Welsey was right. But he didn't seem like the sort of man to do this before. He _couldn't _have done this, but something has sparked him to do so now.

I step inside when I'm sure Eddie's gone, and view the full carnage. Blood and feces litter the floor beneath their cold, stale feet, and I can't breath. I feel as though he could have given them a better sendoff to the other side than... than _this_. It's horrible. I want to breathe life back into these poor victims, but that power is not mine to hold.

Other doors click with the sound of someone entering, and I dart behind a pillar to observe. Eddie's dragging in another body, obviously dead. He has a rope with a noose tied at the end. I know what he's doing, and I press myself against the wall. _Don't see me_, I pray. _Please don't see me, no matter what you do, please don't see me._

From the side I can see, he looks mostly the same as when I last saw him, just a few gashes and a very red, tired looking eye that may never heal. My heart skips a beat when I see that he's chopped up and resewn some clothes into a button down shirt and a vest. He also has some finger-less gloves, so he can protect his palms and still work quickly with free moving claws. He's somehow even more handsome this way, but I force myself to remember that this is a serial killer.

He hangs his new victim from the rafters and looks upon his work with awe.

"Don't worry, my dear," he croons, "You will find love elsewhere. We just were not meant to be, I'm afraid."

I suddenly want to run to him, to beg him to tell me what kind of cruel trick this is and why he's doing this to me, to everyone, because Eddie would never do this. Never. I forget for a second- a second too long- and step forward out of the shadows I'm hiding in. I freeze. He freezes. He heard me, I realize. I give a small cry.

"Eddie..." I warn on hardly moving lips. "Eddie!"

He moves his head in my direction, but only slightly. He's tense. A little bolder, I step forward again. I am louder.

"Eddie, why are you doing this?" I gaze at the bodies again, and my eyes water. "You should know this isn't right. You should know! P-put that one down, and stop what you're doing. Please, Eddie."

The body drops as soon as I finish speaking. His gaze goes glassy and angry, and he turns to me, and I see the entirety of what he's become. Besides the one side I'd already seen, the other side of his face is covered in strange sores and scabs. His eye is more red on this side, as if all the white has been replaced by blood. It looks like a bit of his ear has been torn off as well.

My hands find my lips quickly as I suppress the gasp that wants to escape me. Then he's coming towards me, quickly. There's a knife in his hand. I try to dart to the side, but he's too quick. He grabs me by my arm and yanks me in to him, glares down at me with eyes that don't see, listens to me scream with ears that don't hear, feels me squirm with hands that don't feel.

"Eddie! Eddie, STOP!"

He's trembling violently, but his hand with the knife still lifts, ready to take my life. I fight him more.

"EDDIE, PLEASE!"

"Shush, _darling_. It will be over soon. I _promise_."

The knife swings down, but I don't flinch. Flinching would be useless, especially if I'm still going to die. I shriek when my head is yanked back by the sudden force of it. The knife comes down again, and again, never missing its mark. My vision blurs from the pain behind hot tears, and I see him looking, and the look is of... peace. Because he's not at the surface, _he's _somewhere deep down in that mind, hiding from the horrible things the world and the asylum has done to him.

The last swing does the trick.

The tips of my hair lie on the floor around my feet, and I can run my fingers all the way through again, despite the blood still present. I have no cut anywhere on me that was caused by him. I look up at him with confusion, but he's preoccupied with my hair, twirling the ends in his fingers. He looks almost childlike in his wonder. His breathing is quiet, but I still hear him shuddering.

"I... I have waited so long to run my hands through this hair," he murmurs. "So long to caress... to touch, and... and _hold_..."

His gentleness surprised me, so much, that I forgot how to breathe. I just stare at him. Does he remember me? After all those horrible tests and all that time away? It seemed too good to be true. I don't dare move, lest I should disturb him from his trance, and spark that murder back into him. His hands drift up to my neck, fingers lightly brushing the sensitive skin there. I shiver, and his hands are around my neck in a flash, enough to hurt but not enough to constrict my breath. Even still, the fear returns, riper than ever.

"You little _whore_," he growls. "You don't tell me what to do!"

One hand leaves my neck and smacks me across the face. I just grunt with the pain, then look back to him. Tears now run freely down my face.

"Eddie, it's me, Emma. Don't you remember me? Emma Gibbens? Eddie, please, I know you're in there!"

His face contorts into pure confusion, and his grip on me loosens. His pupils dilate as he thinks, and I know he's thinking hard.

"I... I don't... n-no... B-but those eyes..."

He yanks my face into his hand and pulls me in to his face, looking very closely into my eyes. I don't dare pull my head from his grasp. He's unstable. He's not thinking clearly, and I know I can't take any risks. But as Eddie's features soften, I know that he remembers _something _about me. There's _something _left.

"... Emma... no. I don't know you. You're- I- I know nothing! I don't know you!"

He whirls me around and pushes me roughly. I fall to the floor, my head cracks against the wood, and when I look up, he's already at the other end of the room. He looks so scared, but I don't know if it's because of me or because of his memory loss.

"Stay away from me, y-you _slut!_"_  
_

I feel something break at those words. Eddie runs out of the room, away from me and away from his fear. But his predicament only spurs me to follow him. With a final nod of acknowledgment to the victims of his fantasies, I pursue my old friend deeper into the Female Ward. I feel that there is a chance to save him, and as slim as it is, it's enough to encourage me to hang on. To give him a chance at redemption, to come back to the world of the sentient and lucid.

* * *

"Oh God. Oh God, are you okay? Tell me you're okay. I hate to think of you suffering without me."

Eddie is looking down an elevator shaft at somebody, but I have no idea who it is. I can't see them from where I'm at. But he's obviously concerned for whoever he decided his next victim should be. He's leaning pretty far over the edge to see the inmate. I realize that they must have jumped down to escape from him.

"Why would you do something like that to yourself?" Eddie panics. Then, with a start, he trembles, "You'd rather... rather die than be with me?"

"Fuck you, Gluskin! Go to Hell, _please_!" I know that voice. It's Waylon! So he escaped Chris after all! But from the sound of his voice, I can tell that he is hurt badly. He's gasping and whimpering like a cold hungry puppy. But Eddie isn't seeing that part. All he's seeing is the betrayal and unfaithfulness of a potential lover, and it makes me sick. He sneers, and pushes the button to call the elevator up, which will no doubt crush Waylon between the ceiling.

"Then die."

I start running towards him in the hopes that I can overpower him and hit the emergency stop to save Waylon. It turns out that I didn't need to, because just as I'm about to come up to him, Eddie steps back, staring at the floor. Waylon must have gotten out through the floor underneath.

"What have you..? Ha! Then we continue."

As he's turning around, he bumps into me, and we both stumble back in our respective directions. This time, he doesn't register that it's me, or someone he vaguely remembers, for that fact. He just crooks his head to the side, stares for a second, then walks past to the stairs.

"Eddie, you need to _stop_," I sternly state. "He's not worth it."

He's not listening. I don't dare try to stop him with anything other than words. It feels too risky. Down on the next floor, he starts walking around, searching for Waylon. All I can do is trail behind and pray for my friend's safety- both of them. I can't say it's _too _bad. Eddie has a nice ass.

"Hmm. Close. I can... ah, the smell of my love's arbor."

He's found him. He's found him, so all of my hopes were in vain. Like a cat, Eddie stalks up to a locker by a locked door and crouches on its right side.

"_Darling_, you can't hide from me."

I hear Waylon's cry of alarm as the locker is tipped over onto its back, and he can't get out. Eddie's blocked the damn door. He pokes his head over the vents and grins at his prize.

"You make yourself a gift for me," he purrs. "A delicacy to be unwrapped and... unwrapped again. And savored."

"Eddie, please," I try to tell him, "This is wrong, this is sick and wrong and you know it. I know you can hear me, you sick bastard, so answer me!"

"Here we go. And..."

He begins to drag the locker through the halls of MAM, most likely to take Waylon somewhere quiet to kill him, or worse, make a woman out of him.

"I've been a little... vulgar. I know, and I want to say I'm sorry. I'm just..."

Eddie pauses, thinking. When he finds the words, he peers into the locker again.

"You know how a man gets when he wants to know a woman. But after the ceremony, when I've made an honest woman of you... I promise I'll be a different man."

Waylon starts crying. "E-Emma, p-please, I know you're out there! Help me!" But I can't do anything. Eddie is too strong for me, and he's not stable. Getting in the way would put us both at risk. Hell, being next to Eddie is putting us both at risk, but I stand a better chance of saving him if I stay close by and wait for the right time to step in.

"I want a family. A legacy. To be the father I never had. I'll never let anything happen to our children. Not like..."

That glassy glare is all too familiar now, and again, my heart aches at the sight of it. To think of the horrible memories that must haunt him for him to retreat like that. Well, it makes us the same, I suppose. But my retreat was always painful, as far as I can remember. It seems like a dream now, though. When he comes back from his thoughts, Eddie pushes the locker into a room that wreaks of blood and death, and set the locker upright again. From Waylon's point of view, he can see the table very well. I wish he couldn't.

"You'll have to wait here. I know you must be just as eager as I am to consummate our love. But try to enjoy the anticipation." With that, Eddie lurks to a corner of the room where he has all sorts of gadgets and weapons waiting to be used. He puts some sort of tubing over his finger-less gloves, and points it into the locker, and it releases some sort of gas. I hear Waylon choke for a second, but then he is quiet. But I'm not too afraid. He's still breathing.

"Here, darling. This will help you relax."

I put my head in my hands and shake, groaning from the corner I'm in. _He doesn't get it, _I think hopelessly. _He doesn't get that this is hurting people, and that there are better ways to make friends. God, why did it have to be him that I heard through the ventilation? Why!?__  
_

I've come to terms that at this point, I know I've fallen for him. The idea struck me after being away from him for so long, but I didn't accept it until recently. But even still, it doesn't mean that I'm proud of myself. I know that it's sick and wrong what he's done- what we've _all _done. It's sick and wrong to love a man who's out of his mind.

But I do.


	8. Friends in Need

Eddie ignores me, and I'm thankful for it and angry at it all at the same time. He's letting me see what he's doing to these horrible people. He's letting me see how he changes them into his image, with his saws and his knives and needles and thread. From my corner, I've lost track of how many times I've blacked out and/or vomited from the gruesome sight. Still, he hasn't batted an eye.

"You've given up," he hisses to a different inmate, who is crouched on the table and panting from the pain. He is nude, and his genitals are gone. "You're ugly and you've given up on love." Eddie raises himself and glares down at the man on his table. His eyes narrow, and he bares his teeth. "You're not even worth stringing up. Bleed here and _die_."

Then, he has the man by the neck, and he slams his face into the saw. The poor thing doesn't struggle much, as his frontal lobe is instantly shredded by the force of it, but I know he still feels the pain for a good five seconds after at least. Eddie leaves the body there this time, going to wash his hands at a nearby sink. Though I am weak, I use this pause of abuse to walk up to him, next to him. I don't touch him, or acknowledge him, I just stare and fold my arms.

"Don't look at me that way," he sneers. "I did what I had to do."

I shake my head. "You still don't remember me, after I've followed you around this place and back again. You're killing me, Gluskin."

"I remember enough that I know I don't want to kill you," he barks in reply. "A voice inside of me cries out whenever I get near you, and I know not to touch or harm you, and I don't know _why._ I don't _know_."

As my shoulders sag, he turns the faucet off and dries his hands on his makeshift vest. I take his chin in my hand and force him to look at me. His eyes widen in fear, but he doesn't budge.I have to get through to him somehow, and I think there's only one way left. I have to _insult _him.

"You aren't the Eddie I know. I know he's still in there. But you? You're a monster. An ill behaved _child_."

I smack him, hard across the back of the head, and for some reason, he still doesn't move. But tears are welling in his red eyes, ready to fall over. I push him to his knees so he has to look up at me, and I lower my voice.

"But it's not your fault."

"It's _someone's _fault, it has to be, but I'm no monster!" he cries.

"You were _made _a monster," I clarify. "But it doesn't matter who, or why. That _never _matters. I know." I think back to my father, whose influence pushed me to do horrible things, all of which eventually lead to his own demise and my imprisonment here. "And the doctors here _can't _fix you. They say they're going to help, but they just use you, just like they used me. The only person who can make you well is _yourself_, Gluskin. All these people you've killed? They've done nothing wrong to you. Nothing. And they may have parts you don't like, but it's not your decision whether to remove them or not."

"I-it's not right for a bride-"

I grasp his chin harder, and he whimpers and tries to look away, but I don't let him.

"Eddie, you cannot _make _a bride. You can only find one who comes close to what you want. That's a part of the adventure of being alive, learning and moving on. There's no such thing as a perfect spouse. Try to understand that, _please_."

I let him go, and he falls back on the floor, curls up in a ball and cries.

When I open Waylon's locker, he's just waking up from the effects of that gas Gluskin gave him. His head is groggy. I pick up his camcorder, which fell at his feet, and hand it to him when he's awake enough to remember the situation he's in.

"He's distracted, Park," I tell him. "Get out while you can. There's a nearby gym filled with bodies, just ignore them. It will set you back on the right track out of here."

Cocking his head in confusion, my friend asks, "A-aren't you coming too? We can get out together, Emma. I can relocate you."

"Eddie needs me."

His eyes widen in shock and fear, but I don't know if it's _because _of me, or _for _me. For my sanity. But I'm back. I remember, and I know what I've done and how to be better.

Nothing more needs to be said. Waylon knows. He knows what we have- well, what we had. With a hesitant little nod, he glances at where Eddie sits, then runs out of the room and around the corner, despite the limp in his leg. I looks in the direction he took until I can no longer hear his shoes click against the tile floor, and still longer after that.

It may have been my only chance at escape, to follow him. He knows the layout better than I do. But my only thoughts are that he makes it out of here safe.

* * *

I wake up to Eddie caressing my head. I'd laid some fabric down on the table and switched off the saw so I could sleep in peace without getting more blood on me than I already had. I don't know how long I've been asleep for, all I know is that I feel the pain in his strokes. I sense the hesitation and the uncertainty. Slowly, carefully, I move my hand and place it on his. When I open my eyes to see him, he's shivering and has goosebumps all over him, like he's cold or scared.

I whisper, "Eddie."

He nods quickly to show he's listening, but he's not looking at me.

"Don't be afraid, Eddie. I won't hurt you."

I can barely hear him when he breathes, "That's not what I'm afraid of." He moves his hand away and vanishes from my sight, then I hear a door open and close, then open and close again. A rough piece of fabric is placed over me, and he explains, "You're cold. You were shivering."

I hadn't realized it, but he was right. There certainly was a certain chill in the air that permeated the room. When I tried to sit up, he jumped back nearly five feet and crouched, staring with what I assumed to be his sort of reverence. I shook my head.

"Eddie, what has gotten into you? First you're semi-sane, then you're a murderer and amateur surgeon, and now you're a frightened animal."

"I'm not an animal," he objects. "I don't want to hurt you. I remember the fence. I remember the fence, and it's gone, I can do _anything_, anything at all. I can't risk it."

My breath hitches in my throat. "What do you mean, 'you remember the fence'?"

Eddie stands a little straighter and leans against the wall behind him. "I remember a fence, and someone behind it. I remember... I remember talking to them, with them. Remember... she wanted children. She was good to me, she supported me... it feels like a dream." His eyes light up and meet mine. "Was it you? Were you the girl? I think it was you..."

"Yes, yes, that was me." I swing my legs over the side of my "bed" and stand up across from him. "You told me you wanted to find a good wife, one that would never leave you, one who would do the housework and was pretty, one who could cook. You wanted children, no more than eight though, because eight is an unlucky number, you said."

I smile and reach out to touch him, but he damn near screams and darts to the side.

"The fence is gone! I can't hurt you! Don't touch me! I can't risk it! I can't hurt you!"

I'm frozen in place, but my eyes still follow him. Eddie's afraid of hurting me. He's killed all these men, twisted their natural form in horrible, terrible ways, and he's afraid of hurting _me._ The thought is groundbreaking to me, though it really shouldn't have been.

"Eddie, i-it's okay. You can't hurt me," I lie. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"How do you know?!" he cries. "How do **_I _**know!?"

I start inching towards him, hands outstretched.

"Eddie, you won't hurt me because you don't want to. You'll be careful. You'll be gentle. That's all you have to do, Eddie. Just be careful, slow."

"Please, don't-" he warns. I'm still walking towards him, one soft foot after the other, and I smile gently.

"You won't hurt me. I won't hurt you," I promise. It seems to relax him slightly, as he stands up a little straighter, but he's still shaking. Boldly but tenderly, I reach him, and I realize how tall he is in comparison to me; the top of my head barely reaches his chin. I extend a hand, and he watches it like a cat watches a spider before it pounces.

"I'm going to touch you now," I tell him softly. "Do you understand? Are you okay with this?"

"No," is the quick answer, but the extension to it is, "But do it. Do it."

I'm practically hovering over his cheek with my right hand, slowly moving in to caress the scarred skin there. The first brush surprises him and he flinches, but the rest of it is easy going. My palm is now firmly resting on his cheek. Eddie starts to lean in to it, is closing his eyes. Then his hand is on mine, grasping it but not moving it.

"Eddie," I ask, "Do you remember my name? What is my name, Eddie?"

There's no hesitation. "Emma," he says ceremoniously. "Emma Gibbens. Emma... oh, _Emma..._"

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into a tight hug. I melt into him, into his chest and arms, and I release all the tension I'd been holding. I sob. He may not be _back,_ but I have him, and he has me. We can start over. We can meet again.

"_Darling,_" he purrs. "You _fucking whore. _Be my bride. Be _mine_, Emma."

My eyes snap open. "Eddie, you know I can't do that, not yet. W-we have to have time to date, get to know each other better."_  
_

"We were made for each other, _darling_." His grip on me tightens, and I start to struggle to get out of his grip. "Our children will be absolutely _gorgeous._"

"E-Eddie, no, not here. Not in this place. It's horrible here, w-we have to _go_."

And then my breath is snatched from my chest as he yanks my hair back to looks at him. It hurts, it _hurts_. The glare, the murderous glare is back, and it's aimed at _me_.

"Emma," he states deeply, "we've known each other for a _very _long time now. Don't you think it's time to say our vows and pledge ourselves to each other for the rest of all eternity? _Don't you? _Don't you dare say no, you little shit!"

I relax and weasel out of his grasp and take a few steps away, far enough that I might stand a chance should I need to run.

"Eddie, stop and think about this for a second. You know that it isn't normal for someone in love to marry only after a few days or months of knowing each other. Relationships take time. Come on, Eddie, think it through. It hasn't been long enough for you to _really _know if you want to marry me."

He's tensing up, ready to chase me should the need arise. But he listens to me and seems to legitimately think about it. After a minute of thought, he relaxes and walks over to me.

"You're right, _darling_. We shouldn't rush this." After placing his hands on my shoulders, he grins and adds, "But perhaps I can change your mind with a little _pampering_."


	9. Pampering

The straitjacket isn't at all comfortable, but I don't fight it regardless. It'd be pointless, and I don't have the will to do so. He'd promised he wouldn't hurt me as long as I willingly followed him around. _Just go along with it,_ I tell myself. _He'll come back eventually._

The first place we go to is some sort of medical bay; there's all sorts of antiseptics and medicines. Eddie lifts me onto one of the examination tables and removes the straitjacket, which is immediately replaced by some handcuffs, and I'm placed on my stomach when he loops the link around one of the bars to keep me in place.

"Are you comfortable, _darling?_" he asks. A hand is drifting down my back to my ass, and I think shortly of how quickly he got over his fear of touching me. The mentally unstable are unpredictable, I suppose, but I'm still a little unnerved by it.

"Y-yes," I stutter.

"Good." His hands leave me, and so does he as he retreats to one of the cabinets to grab some supplies. I try to twist my head around to see him, but the positioning is awkward and I can't see what he's up to very well. I can only hear the sounds of glass, plastic and pills being shuffled around. When he returns, he pulls my hair back and ties it up so it's out of his way for whatever he has planned for me.

_I shouldn't just be sitting here and accepting this_, I berate myself. _This is wrong, he's taking advantage of you, this is wrong and you know it."_

My body doesn't react. He pushes me down on the table and chuckles lowly.

"I wish I could find a doctor I trust in here, _darling_, but luckily for you, I will have to do. Now, just relax while I search for any wounds or... _foreign _objects on you. It won't take long."

I jerk away from him when I feel that he's removing my jumpsuit, but he just tugs me back into place.

"I'm not going to _strip _you, Emma. That would be so _vulgar_. You'll keep your undergarments on, don't fret. Oh, what a mix you are."

He lifts my lower half like I'm a baby and pulls the thing off in one swift move, so he's got his bare hands on my legs and my undershirt, bra and undies are still on. Then, I flush bright red, not because I'm near naked in front of him, but _he's taken off his gloves to touch me_. I feel his rumble of approval at my thin, smooth legs, and he rubs his hands all over them. They're surprisingly warm, and it helps me to ease some tension.

"_Darling_, how can you even _stand? _These legs are so frail, so fragile! Oh, and smooth... yes, they're smooth. Like a baby's skin. Except... oh, there's a little scar here, Emma. How did this happen?"

"Bike accident," I lie. The truth is that that particular spot was a favorite of my dad's to dig his nails into whenever I tried to crawl away from him during... _stuff_.

Eddie tsks from his spot behind me. "What a pity. The only marking to mar your perfect limbs."

He pushes me forward so I have to crouch on my knees, and I feel him clamber on to the table now that there's room for him as well. His hands find my ass and gently tug and squeeze at the skin there. Try as I may to ignore it, there's a strange feeling washing over me at this contact, and it feels good, but something feels wrong about it too.

"Hm. Rough," he comments. "But perky. That's well, I suppose. It seems as though your hind end has taken quite a bit of use, I assume."

As soon as I start leaning back into his palms, he withdraws and moves on to the next section of my body, my torso. My undershirt is lifted just beneath where my breasts end, and again his hands are searching me, picking for every little flaw they can find. They find one, and their owner huffs with disapproval.

"_Darling_, I can see your ribs. You're obviously malnourished, but don't be frightened. I will feed you well and fill you back up the way you should be. And- oops, a little too high there. I must save that _delicacy _for later."

A hot breath escapes me at that wording.

"Hmm, you have some hairs on your arms, Emma." He's crouching over me now, made easy due to his larger size. "And strange markings. It looks like some sort of bruise that scarred, this dark patch of skin. Well, there's nothing I know of that can be done about that. Oh, but these _fingers_, yes. So long and dainty. Perfect for holding, guiding, kissing, _licking_. Yes, I love your fingers, _darling_."

A shiver runs through me, and more of those good feelings radiate in the lower half of my body. Now I remember what it is, and I curse myself for having _that _reaction at a time like this. I can't dwell on it for long, because the handcuffs are unlocked and I'm flipped around onto my back, my hands held high above my head by one of his. Eddie leans in close to my neck and sees the welts there, and is not pleased.

"And how did _this _happen, _darling? _Those damn doctors, I assume?"

His breath there makes me pant, so I just nod because I cannot form words right now. His grip tightens on my hands, and he growls next to my ear, which makes me gasp. "It's a good thing they're all already dead, or else I would have made them suffer to no end for touching you like that."

That's a good indicator that I shouldn't tell him about the _other _ways that they've touched me. And the lisp, dear God the things it's doing to me. I want to fuck him and kill myself all at the same time. _What a little slut_, I tell myself. _You haven't even kissed him and you already want him to take you. What a_ _**whore.**_**  
**

Now he's inspecting my face, disregarding the scars and red eye. He's very close, so close, that if I were to move my head just a little in just the right way- shut up, Emma.

It seems to take an eternity before he's satisfied with his scrutiny, and he puts me back into the straitjacket and hauls me off the table onto his shoulders.

"You look _ravishing, _Emma. Ah, I ache just thinking about taking you again, and again, and _again_."

Good, now I'm wet. And he hasn't put my jumpsuit back on, so if he decides I should sit on his knee or something, he's going to feel it and use it as an excuse to take me right here and now. But our next stop is so much worse for me, and so much better for Eddie.

We're in the showers.

"I'm afraid to take my eyes off of you, Emma," Eddie admits, "but it must be done I'm afraid so that we can both cleanse ourselves of the filth of this place. So you can shine just like the woman I remember so well. So go, I'll be right next to you, _darling_."

As soon as the straitjacket comes off again, I waste no time getting out of his sight and tearing off the remainder of my clothes. I smell like sweat and blood, and I need to get that scent off of me ASAP. I snatch a bar of soap from another stall and scrub under my nails and arms, then lather up my hair and body very well. Just when I'm about to get out, I hear him. I hear _old _Eddie. He's singing his song, but it's mumbled, incoherent. He even hisses a few times when he knows it's wrong.

His annoyance only escalates, and he continues to get angrier and angrier. I jump in to help him.

"_When I was a **girl**, my mother often said to me, 'Get married dear and see how happy you will be.' I have looked all over, but not a boy I can find who seems to be just like the little boy I had in mind. I will have to look around until the right one I have found_."

His aggravated breathing slows, and I can hear my voice echo off of the walls.

"_I want a boy, just like the boy that married dear old Mom. He was a toy, and the only boy that Mommy ever won. A good old fashioned man with heart so true, one who loves nobody else but you. I want a boy, just like the boy that married dear old Mom_."

His shower head switches off, and I hear his feet splat on the tile as he walks to his clothes.

"_By the old mill stream, there sit a couple old and gray. Though years have rolled away, their hearts are young today. Mother dear looks up at Dad with love light in her eye, he steals a kiss, a fond embrace, while ev'ning breezes sigh. They're as happy as can be, so that's the kind of love for me_."

I can't help but yelp when I'm suddenly pressed against the wall, and though I attempt to push myself away, he pushes me back into it. Eddie is pressing himself against me, even though he's dressed, and he has me roughly by my hips. His voice is husky, and he finishes the song right into my ear. I'm immediately putty in his embrace, and I'm ashamed and I weakly grasp at the wall, trying to support myself, but he has me.

"I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear... old... _dad._" He starts mouthing at my neck, and I bite my lip to suppress the groan that wants to escape me.

"Ed-ddie, I need to get dress-essed."

His laugh rattles my ears, and I'm cold when he withdraws.

"Of course, _darling_, but leave your undershirt off, would you? I have some dresses I would like you to try on. And if you're good, I may just let you sleep with me tonight."

_Oh God yes please, _I have to refrain from saying. When he disappears around the corner, I sink to the ground and clutch my throbbing heart and pant and shake my head at myself all at the same time. _You're a damn fool_.

* * *

He forgets the straitjacket this time, and of course I'm okay with that. But dresses were never really my thing in the first place, so I'm not _ecstatic _when I see the wedding dresses he's taken the time to sew, but the handiwork is impressive nonetheless. There are several different styles to decide between; there's long and flowing, sleeveless, tight, short, long, and I wonder where he got all this white fabric. It couldn't have been easy to get a hold of.

"Now," Eddie begins, "None of these are tailored specifically for you, but you are about the same height as my _models_." He gestures to some thinner inmates who he'd killed and fashioned into his own personal mannequins. I make no comment. He's past that now. Regardless, I step between him and the dead just in case.

"I think all the adjustment it will need will be some at the breast, and perhaps the waist. I think sleeves would look best on yours- no no, sleeveless. It's a bit more scandalous, but your shoulders are worth flashing, _darling._"

The look he gives me is enough to push my gaze away and make me feel _very _warm. Not the first time today, I guess. But then I realize: is it even "today" anymore? What if it's tomorrow? What if it's two days later than I think it is?

"Eddie," I express, "I don't know what the day is. How can we know when our anniversary is if we don't even know what day it is?"

He gasps as the realization hits him as well. "Emma, you're right. The calenders will never do any good. I'll take us to a computer and we will see the date on that."

I jolt slightly in surprise. "Wha- Eddie, I don't really think that's necessary. We can just-"

"Nonsense! My future wife should always be aware of what day it is! It's important for a woman to follow a schedule, love! Come on, we can always come back to the dresses. Oh, I lend you something of mine to wear. I'm sure you'll look fine, now come on!"

His eagerness confuses me. Wouldn't wedding dresses and tailoring be a priority to him? With his altered mind, I would think that that would be the case. But no, he has me by the arm with his right hand, his knife in the other, and away we go down the darkened halls of MAM.

We have to walk for a fair bit before we find a computer that isn't frozen, isn't password protected, and doesn't have the blue screen of death. Eddie doesn't really know how to work it, so I hover the mouse over the time, and the day pops up. "It's the twenty third of September," I tell him. "Now we can keep track of the days until we are wed and can remember our anniversary."

"Wonderful!" Eddie exclaims. "And we can always come back here if there is something that needs tending to. You obviously know how to work this machinery. It could prove useful to us in the future."

"Yeah," I agree. I stand up, and he takes my hand instantly. "Well, I suppose we can go now."

On our way back, we pass by several computers that we hadn't thoroughly checked, and I stop at one. There's an open window I hadn't noticed before on the computer. It's a note document, and it says something about a health report. Curious, I click on it. It has all of the patients listed in alphabetical order, and their health history is relayed on it, down to the very last detail.

"Emma, don't waste your time with that," Eddie scoffs. "We need to prepare you for the consummation of our love."

"Please, Eddie, just one moment. I'm curious about us. I want to see how healthy we are in the eyes of the doctors."

"You shouldn't bother yourself with the opinions of those rapist pig bastards!"

I'm taken aback slightly by his sudden wording of the doctors. Rapist pig bastards? They couldn't have been _that _bad to him. The first file I come across is Eddie's, because I skipped mine. I open it up and get exactly what I was expecting. Healthy. Fertile. Breathing problems, though not severe. Scarred nether regions. Lisp.

"Emma, _darling_, please," Eddie urges. "I don't like it here. Please, let's go back. This is the last time I'll ask you, Emma."

The last bit was a warning, I know it, and my heart lurches. "Eddie, just one minute, please. I want to see how I am doing. Then we'll go, I promise."

I find my file and open it. Healthy. Gaining strength, responding well to the tests. Great little whore. I know who put in that part. But I halt and stare at a single word that has all of my hopes and dreams for the future crashing down. I choke back a sob, and Eddie notices. He leans down and scans the file with me, and gasps when he sees the part I was looking at.

One. Little. Word. Enough to ruin my whole life.


	10. Sweet Dreams

I halt and stare at a single word that has all of my hopes and dreams for the future crashing down. I choke back a sob, and Eddie notices. He leans down and scans the file with me, and gasps when he sees the part I was looking at.

One. Little. Word. Enough to ruin my whole life.

_**Infertile**. Details:_

_Ran several tests to attempt conception of a child. One born in this place would no doubt be eligible for Project Walrider. No luck whatsoever. Ovaries too damaged due to abuse from father in childhood. Cannot conceive._

CANNOT CONCEIVE. The words rattle my very core. CANNOT CONCEIVE. Eddie is yanking me up by my hair, angrier than I've ever seen him, but it hardly registers. CANNOT CONCEIVE. He's screaming bitterly at me, demanding to know why I haven't let him know. CANNOT CONCEIVE. He's reaching for his knife, hand shaking profusely. Rage is all I see. CANNOT CONVEIVE. He's screaming in my face, smacking me. CANNOT CONCEIVE. Eddie sets me down and stumbles back, tears welling in his eyes. CANNOT CONCEIVE. I only come back to my senses when I hear glass cracking.

It's Chris.

Eddie just stands there and looks at him like it's no big deal. But I know better. I scramble to my feet and snatch his hand in mine, whispering, "Eddie, we have to run."

Tears are killing me just like they are him, but I still have my senses about me. And I still love him.

"Eddie, now."

Chris is staring at us now, sizing us up, determining if we're worth his time and energy to pulverize.

"Eddie!" I exclaim. It sets them both off. He snatches his knife again and yells as he goes in for the kill on me, but Chris has rammed into him and sent him flying across the room. I scream his name, and Chris picks me up with one hand around my neck. If it weren't for the metal bar in his mouth, I would say he was grinning.

"Little piggy whore," he rasps out. "I've finally got you now, you bitch."

I can't breathe past his hand, and he's only squeezing tighter. I grasp at him weakly, trying to get him away from me. _This is it. This is how I die._

"**_No!_**" Eddie screams. It distracts Chris, and he glances over at him. Eddie's holding one of the computers high above his head, and he throws it at Chris. It hits him right in the head, but the beast hardly flinches. But it's enough. He tosses me away, all across the room, and the back of my head slams into a desk. I black out.**  
**

* * *

In my dream, Eddie is still walking besides me. Still smiling at me, still happy to be with me. The trees are still dead, but the grass is long, thick and lush. He's scarred. Scarred beyond repair, but still looks better than he did before.

"_Darling_," he hums, "Will you stay with me_ forever?_"

"There's no such thing as forever," I preach to him solemnly. "Nothing lasts forever. Forever is a myth that we all want to believe is true, but never will be."

His smile fades as he thinks about it, and I give him the time. God knows he needs it. But his smile comes back. he takes my hand in his and nuzzles into my neck.

"No, Emma. There _is _a forever. As long as I am with you, _Forever _is a simple reality. Forever is a fact, an old story, a happy ending. Forever is _real_. _You _are my forever."

The trees have blossoms now. Light shades of blue, pink and yellow dance over our heads. It makes me feel as though we're on a dance floor, only us, and only us. Forever. He takes my other hand and places it on his bicep. Slowly, he leads me into a waltz, and I can hear the piano in the distance. I know this song. I sing to him.

"_I am clockwork; I'm broken. You have stolen all my parts. Now I need you more than air. I can't breathe, unless you're here."_

The blossoms become more vivid, turning into deep shades of red and blue. I feel myself growing stronger in his arms as he swings me around like a girl swings around a doll.

"_So don't leave me 'till I'm whole. I am nothing without you. Only now can I see why we need to be loved. When I found you, I was fine, but somehow, I got switched around. Now everything is backwards, up is down, left is right. I don't want you, but I need you, and if none of that can change, So be it."_

Stars float down from the sky and envelop us, and the pace changes, but only slightly. Eddie nods at me, wanting me to continue.

"_Please don't leave, I still need your love to carry on. If you go, I'll ensure we'll meet again. Everything is backwards, up is down, left is right. I don't want you, but I need you, and everything is backwards, up is down, left is right. I don't want you, but I need you, and if none of that can change..."_

* * *

"So be it," I say when I wake up, continuing my dream into reality. But the pain in my head comes flooding back into my consciousness, and I can't help but groan and writhe where I lay. The events that conspired before I passed out come rushing back to me. I shoot up, worried. _Eddie. _He'd stood up to Chris. Had he paid the price for it? And why did he do that? Moments before, he was cussing up a storm at me because I couldn't... couldn't conceive. Couldn't have children.

Fresh tears threaten to fall over my eyes, but I blink and rub them away. Slowly, I get up, afraid I won't be able to support my own weight through the pain and tears. But I'm strong. I stumble, but I'm strong. I don't fall. I snatch up a broken pole to help me get around; something's wrong with my right foot, but it's not broken.

"Eddie?" I call out. There's no response. A little more frantically. "Eddie!?"

Still, the only sound that replies is my own echo in the empty halls. I choke back the worst of the pain as I start to limp back to Eddie's surgical room.

"Eddie?! Eddie, please... Eddie!"

Everything is dark as I stumble to a hopeless ending I know will greet me. He's not there. He's not going to be there, and I know it. But I keep walking, because a part of me doesn't want to believe it. A part of me still wants to hope, and beg, and plead with Fate to have mercy and _let me have him, come what may. Let him beat me, scold me, kill me. _As long as he's happy, I'm happy. I _adore _him so much, his suffering hurts me.

"Eddie..."

And then, the Walrider is back. But something seems different about it now. It seems, weak. Nervous. It's swirling around me, inspecting me.

"Please," I beg it. "I need him. I _need _him!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" someone hisses through clenched teeth. I whirl around and I come face to face with an averagely dressed man. Some of his fingers are missing, is the first thing I notice. He's caked in splotches of blood, and looks tired. Then's I see the fog around him. It's linked to the Walrider, and it clicks. This guy is the host.

"Who are you?" I ask with trepidation.

"Doesn't matter anymore," he tells me. "This thing kinda controls itself. I dunno why it came here, to you. Got a problem?"

I start crying again, and I clasp my hands together desperately.

"Please, I need to find him. Eddie Gluskin. I need to know he's alright. Please, find him."

He looks wary at first, but after looking me over again, the man nods, and closes his eyes and concentrates. "I think... I think I can..." The Walrider springs into action, swirling away down the halls. The host follows, eyes still closed, and I follow him. It takes some time, but we're at the entrance to the asylum within a half hour, and I see him. Waylon. And that one man who attacked us before. He's trying to kill Waylon, and I look at the host. His eyes are still closed, sensing the Walrider.

"H-hey!" I shake him. "He's going to kill Waylon! You have to stop him!"

The host lifts a hand, and motions for the Walrider to descend upon the man. It does, lifts him into the air, tears him apart limb from limb. Waylon stares on, horror stricken, but not for long. He runs out of the main doors moments after. It's the last I ever see of him. He didn't even see me, didn't even realize I was there. The Walrider follows him out.

The host relaxes after Waylon is far off of the premises, and glares at me with dazed eyes. I shrink away from him, afraid of the power he holds.

"You don't command me. You have no right."

"He saved me. He'll get out of here, he'll tell about the horrible things this place has done, and..." I really take the time to look at him now. He doesn't look like an employee. He's got a camera in his hand, and I see a notebook hanging off of his belt. Click.

"He said he sent for someone," I tell him. "Is it you?" The host doesn't respond to the question. He just cocks his head to the side curiously and steps closer to me.

"You're not like the rest of the variants," he comments. "I can sense it. You're good. Sane. But troubled, just like the rest."

He's right. In the events of a month and a day, I've changed drastically from the childlike state I had reverted to before. My past is no longer a burden of my mind. Yes, I was raped by my stepfather. Yes, my sister never liked me. Yes, my mother was a raging smoker and alcoholic after she remarried. But I don't have to have anything to do with that. It's not a problem to me.

What _does _matter to me is that I'm still insane in my own way, that I'm in love with a serial killer who probably doesn't want to see me anymore because I can't have children. And yes, that fact still hurts. No little boys, and no little girl for the boys to look out after. No cradles, no lullabies. No little dresses and shoes. And adoption is out of the question. The government would never approve me for it, especially if I'm sharing home with Eddie. But that doesn't change the fact that I've fallen for him, hard.

"My troubles come from different roots," I tell him. He nods, and the Walrider hovers down next to him, then lifts me up gently.

"Gluskin is on the second floor, right over there." He points to a slightly ajar door, and I'm lifted through a hole in the glass that separates the two floors. "I also took a spare second to delete all files related to you here. Nothing remains, not even in the government database. As far as they know or care, you're perfectly sane and ready to take on the world. To them, you were never here. I hope that's all you need. I don't plan on sticking around. Bastards downstairs shot the fuck out of me."

It's the first time I notice the bullet holes all over him, but they're blocked from bleeding by some of the Walrider's magic. But the more I look at it, the less it looks like magic. They look like tiny tiny robots. The host waves me away dismissively, and heads for the door, demon close behind.

"W-wait!" I call to him. He stops, and I shudder. "Thank you. A-and be safe. Please."

It takes a second for my words to register, but they do. He smiles, and nods. Then, he's gone.

I don't have time to dwell on it. I have to find Eddie. I rush to the door where I was directed to, and reach to open it, but of course I hesitate. What am I going to find? Is he going to charge at me, just like Chris did? Will he even see me as... me? Was children all he wanted out of me? My hand falls limp where I hold it. I bite my lip. Maybe he's forgotten. His mind isn't that stable, after all. But more likely than not, he hasn't. He'll remember something as big as me being infertile.

He'll kill me, no doubt. I just know it. I pace, debating. I can leave now. The host was kind enough to delete my history of insanity and unstable mind. But if I leave, I'll never know. I'll never know if Eddie still loves me, or wants to kill me. The question would haunt me forever.

If he still loves me, I would stay here with him. If he hates me, he'll kill me, and that will be it. The end. I can't outrun him. I don't _want _to.

But if I leave, the world is mine to behold. I can scavenge some money off of some corpses and be on my way. Or I can just go into the mountains here. Live off the land.

Yeah. Right.

So I open the door.


	11. We'll live

He's printed my medical history. He must have done it before the host had the Walrider delete my files. He's clutching it and sobbing, moaning incoherently. Again, as I always do, I ache for him. I ache for his pain to stop. I yearn to please him, to do whatever it takes to make him happy, because he's suffered through so much.

But I don't step into the doorway. I stay in the hall and wait. I wait for him to see me. He raises his right hand, and my breath hitches.

He has a small doll. I can tell he's made it. The eyes are made of white buttons, sloppily painted black, and the hair is brown. Like mine. Made of yarn. A little blue dress. One leg is longer than the other, but he doesn't care. I can tell perfection isn't what he had in mind for this one. It's a sympathy doll. It's not made for anyone but him, to console him. His bottom lip trembles, and his face contorts with sadness again.

"Eddie," I breathe. It's so quiet, I'm not even sure I said it. Cautiously, I inch forward into the room. It's bare, save for a few chairs and boxes. When I close the door behind me, he finally sees me. His scabs are notably less severe than they were before, and the red in his eyes has receded some. Coated in blood. Tears in his clothes, his hair is mussed up.

Eddie snarls. I stop, but my voice does not.

"Do you hate me, Eddie?" I ask bluntly. There's no reason to be subtle about it. We both know what the answer's going to be.

"_I..._"His voice is thick and slurred. "_I... don't... know. Emma. I don't know._"

I'm surprised. He-he should have said yes. He should have charged me, killed me, stabbed me a thousand times over now. I take another step, and he snarls again.

"Why? Why don't you know? The answer should be simple. It should be yes."

I start bawling.

"I can't have your babies, Eddie!" I exclaim. "I can't be the mother I wanted to be, or the mother you wanted of me! You should hate me with every inch of your soul! You should want to kill me! Oh, go on! Say something! Speak! Why did you come here!? Why aren't you killing me!?"

I hadn't realized I was holding all this in until now. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted to die. I collapse to my knees and press my palms flat on the carpeted floor, and roll over in agony. The past comes rolling back in and wrecking me, tearing me apart, and the world is going dark. I'm losing feeling until there's a warmth passing over my head again and again. My breathing relaxes, but the tears keep coming, until gentle, scarred lips brush over my eyes and kiss them away.

"No," someone whispers. It takes four more "no's" for me to realize it's Eddie. I'd been hoisted into his lap. I open my eyes and see his so close to mine, and I'm suddenly scared. I cling on to him gingerly.

He continues. "No. No, I... I suppose it... isn't your fault. I was wrong to yell at you. You didn't know. It isn't your fault."

I almost think he's telling himself more than he is me. But he's looking right at me. His arms are around me tightly, not loosely. His gaze isn't distant. He's here. He's here with me. He's lucid enough, I tell myself. He knows.

"Emma." It's said low and raspy. "_Darling_. No. I could never be angry with you for something you cannot control. Emma. _Darling._ I... I know what I've done. I remember now. I know why I'm here in this hell. Why I can never leave."

He stands up, taking me with him, and though his eyes are calm, I can sense the uneasiness in his voice.

"You need to leave, my love. You shouldn't stay here, in this horrible place. But it's the only place I will be accepted. Go on."

I shake my head vigorously, too upset to form full words.

"Emma," Eddie warns, "Good girls listen to the man they love. You don't want to disobey me and make me angry, do you?"

I blurt out, "I don't care!"

His eyes widen in a mix of shock, anger and deep love. "Why, you little, _ungrateful-_"

"No matter what you do, or what you say, I will not leave you alone here. I don't care if you hit me, slap me, call me a whore or an ungrateful bitch. I'm not going anywhere unless you'll be there too."

It simmers down his attack before it even starts. His fist was raised, but he lowers it, panting through clenched teeth.

"Emma, I swear to _fucking **CHRIST**_ I will _lock you out _of the asylum if that's what I have to do! Now leave me! **_NOW!_**"

He shoves me to the ground to get his point across, and my head hits the floor. I start screaming at him.

"Is it because I can't have children!? Well, news flash Eddie; no one else in here can either! You can mold all the remaining inmates into whatever shape you see fit, but they don't have the organs for it! You can cut them a vagina, give them breast implants, take away everything _vulgar_, but none of them can carry your seed! No one here can! **I **was the only possibility, but I can't! I _can't!"_

The way he's looking at me. I have a flashback to when I first saw him on that cloudy day behind the fence. So placid, tranquil. But this time, he doesn't look empty. He looks... understanding. Knowing. I get to my knees in front of him, and I don't know if he sees me, but I'm beyond that now. I just need to vent.

"You're _sick! _You're sick, and you don't know what true love is! You just see a body or a face you like and think you can just change it into whatever you desire, but you _can't, _Eddie! And you think that when you _do _find your wife, you can just command her to do anything you want and she'll listen without question, but it doesn't work like that!"_  
_

I weakly grasp at his pant leg and sink back down, my energy failing me again.

"Eddie... I love you, Eddie. But I'm not what you want me to be. And I don't know if I can. I want my _freedom_. I'd be faithful to you, of course! I'd never look away! But what you expect of me otherwise... to be a mother and a perfectly obedient wife..."

He has my chin in his hand before I realize I've trailed off. He forces me to look into his bloodshot eyes. He's smiling.

"If you truly love me as you say you do, then you shouldn't have a problem doing as I say. I can feel the longing in your voice, _darling_. I can sense how much you desperately want to please me. Ah, granted... that _does _make you a bit of a needy _whore_, but- truly?- I think we can work around it."

Eddie tilts his head slightly to the side, then leans in closer and captures my lips with his. He tastes of medicine, blood and... thread? But it doesn't matter to me. I'm just lost in the feel of it. It's been so long since I had been kissed so gently, so tenderly, that I'd forgotten any kind of soft touch such as this, and it's intoxicating. I lean back to feel him better, exhaling deeply through my nostrils.

It lasts much shorter than I want it to, and then he has me roughly by the shoulders, and he's got the look of dread and fear in his entire posture.

"Are... Are you... _sure_, Emma? Please. I-I don't want to keep you here-"

Now I kiss him, more forcefully, and I wrap my hands around his neck. He slaps me in response and cowers away slightly.

"Emma!" he yells. Then, more calmly, "I would rather you didn't touch me so quickly without my consent first. Keep it slow for me, will you _darling?_"

His trust in me is flattering. I understand that he would never allow someone else the same courtesy. Quickly I nod, and smile. The last of my tears fall for the final time that day.

* * *

There's no one sane enough left to help us say our vows. So we simply commit ourselves to each other fully, and say the cliche "I do's" and mouth at each other longingly. I'd asked him on the way about children, and though he says he's disappointed, "I'd rather have you than anyone else," he explains. "Children or not. You...

_You are my Forever._"

It's nothing short of a dream come true to me.

We do what we can to make a suitable home for us outside of the asylum, in the employee's quarters, because their living conditions are far better than ours. We're even lucky enough to find a room fairly close to a kitchen, which has remained untouched from the other variants. Eddie creates a barrier to keep them out- and to keep me in. It's a flattering gesture, and I reward him for it with a healthy meal when it's finished.

It's hard for him, but he lets me help with some of the work and ask small things of him. It's hard because it's not what he had in mind, and he's not used to taking orders from a woman, but he does it for me. Occasionally, I'll see him clench his fists, bite his tongue, or mutter dirty, nasty things about me under his breath. Things like _whore _and _fucking slut, _but I know he doesn't mean it.

He loves me. Eddie Gluskin loves _me, _and _only _me.

I've made certain of it.

Whenever he brings another in to create a "near perfect woman" (or as he's calling his surgeries now), I have to chastise him, of course. But it's gently that I do so, enough to get my point across but not enough to anger him. He lets them go when I tell him too.

And if they linger.

If those ugly **_sluts _**stick around, I have to discipline them as well. They tell me it hurts and that they want it to stop, but it's all necessary for even _thinking _about coming between me and Eddie. I give them a good spanking, then send them to their room without supper. After a few days or a week, they stop complaining. When I go to let them out, the poor things are so tired. So I just let them sleep.

They _never bother us again. _Obviously, I'm doing SOMETHING right.

I would have made an _excellent _mother. But that's a dream for another girl, I'm afraid. But I have all I need. I have my Sinatra.

He sings to me just like he used to, through the fence and over the air ducts. When I was alone, and weak. But I am not alone anymore. And I am not weak. But I'm not strong either. I am... I am _whole_. Just like he promised me. And he hits me sometimes for disobeying, but it's alright. I know he only wants the best for me. It's just a little discipline. I will live.

I will live.

I will live, and so will he. We always do.


	12. Cursed Blessing

_**K, I'm a damn fucking idiot and didn't put up a warning for this chapter. SEX. SEX. SEX.**_

_**I am now going to cry in a corner because I worked hard on this and didn't put up a warning.**_

_**-fucking idiot Dylawa**_

* * *

One night, he beckons me to him. I would be such an ungrateful slut to disobey him. I would never do that.

I come in with my head bowed low, out of respect for my beloved husband. My hands are clasped before me. He may want me to make something. He may want to just hold me and whisper endearing things to me. He may want to kiss me.

Usually, he'll lift my chin, tell me I have no reason to be so humble. But tonight, there's no comforting fingers lifting my head and spirits. Just a command.

"Look at me, Emma."

I do, and I see him reclining on our bed, wearing only his underwear and button down shirt. The bulge in his pants is hard to ignore, but he didn't say I can look at it, so I keep my eyes focused on his. There's an undeniable hungry look in his eyes, but I don't think he's hungry for food. His next command confounds me.

"Take it off. Everything except the bare amount."

Eddie's never had me do something so scandalous before. I have no practice, but I can sense he wants me to go slow. His breath is calm when he isn't in a hurry. So I gently peel off the dress he's made for me over my head, then the socks, and I let my hair fall over my shoulders. I only have my panties and bra left. I pose quietly, waiting for Eddie to tell me what to do.

Dilated eyes scan me eagerly, and his breath quickens slightly. He pulls himself off of the bed and saunters over to me, powerful and massive in comparison to my 5'10". I shudder when large, cool hands wrap around my arms and he leans into my ear.

"No children... we've come to terms with this, right, _darling?_"

"Yes, Eddie," I agree quickly. "It's still a pitYYyyyy..." My neck prickles at the feel of his lips caressing it.

"It is."

Gentle teeth worry at my skin there and bring up the goose flesh. I do my best to endure the feeling, not sure how my love wants me to react. His grunt and increased effort tell me he's not satisfied, so I give in and sigh heavily, leaning away to grant him more access. Eddie chuckles lowly at this.

"But your... _curse,_" he words it, "has given us an advantage. To attain our pleasures of each other as we please. Does the idea excite you, _darling?_"

A gentle nip draws a yes out of me in a long shudder. I feel immediately ashamed at having such a lowly reaction in front of my husband, and I apologize quickly. But Eddie is loving to me, and looks me in the eyes.

"Emma, it is the reaction I want that you are giving me. But I want _more_. So much _more. __Darling,_ we haven't properly celebrated our marriage yet. I have waited for a sign that you were ready, but you never gave me one. So I cam to the conclusion that you were _always _ready, but too shy to admit it. Is this true, my love?"

I nod slowly, not sure if it's the correct answer. Eddie growls and forcefully takes my lower lip between his teeth and plays with it.

"_Whore,_" he hisses through his arousal. "Fucking _slut. _You want me in you, don't you?!"  


"I- I don't know," I whimper. It's hard to think past the lips now attacking mine ruthlessly, but they slow at my uncertain reply. He starts turning us around and heading back towards the bed.

"You're afraid," he guesses. His whole demeanor changes, and he's gentle again. "You've been taken before, I know. But it's never been _loving,_ has it? Never been for love?"

My breath catches. "Y-yes. Never like what you've shown me."

His next kisses are a mix of anger, understanding and disappointment, but there's nothing he can do but change the way I see it. I slowly embrace him with my mind and body, and return his passionate affection as best as I can. A lump grows in my throat, but no matter what I do, I can't swallow it down. I'm not scared, or crying, but the lump is just _there._ His hands are all over me, running across my hips with delicate fingers, then crushing my head into his the next moment. My world is dizzy and breathless.

The next thing I know, I'm laying spread out on our bed, my head hitting the headboard as Eddie takes what he wants of me, depriving me of air as he mouths at me quickly and hungrily. Strong hands drag me down beneath him so I am laying flat, and he sits on top of me, staring down with the eyes of a tiger. When he lifts me to unclasp my bra, it's a big contrast to the way he was handling me before; slow, uncertain, unsteady. But his expression has not changed, to let me know that he is the one with the power still, that I am not to move unless told to do so.

When it finally comes off, Eddie eyes the fabric like it was a warden keeping him from his freedom. Then, he sees me. He sees my chest, and everything on it that he wants so much, _too_ much. He kisses each nub tenderly with trembling lips, and whispers, "Oh, _darling_, you're magnificent. Let me... haaahhh... let me touch you, Emma."

Only when he glances up expectantly do I realize that he's asking permission. I don't even hear the yes that parts my lips, but he does. Immediately, his teeth find my right tit again and pull and tug greedily, and his right hand massages my left. The air is stolen from my lungs yet again, and I arch eagerly into that warm hand and mouth. Eddie chuckles, and the vibration steals a moan from me.

"You want this, don't you?" he breathes. "You want me to pleasure you until you can't think past the primal urge to submit to any stimulation. What a _whore._"

"I-I'm sorry, dear," I pant, the effort made more difficult by his hand leaving my breast and trailing down lower. "B-but it f-feels good when you touch me. I- This is only for _you_. I am only for you, dear."

Eddie draws a yelp from me when his hand finally goes _there_, but he doesn't call me a whore this time. "Yes. You are _mine, _and _mine _alone. These sounds are _mine. _These reactions are _mine_, and this... this _sanctuary... _it is **all **mine. Don't you forget it."

"Ah! Y-yes Eddie!"

My underwear is ripped off of my thighs, revealing my sex and how wet it is. Eddie hums with approval, and runs two fingers up and down the area. I feel the heat creeping into my face, and my heart is pounding out of my chest. I never knew this could feel so _good_. Then he's rubbing in circles in one spot, and my vision starts splitting everything into two.

He's next to my ear, but his hand hasn't left its spot.

"What do you _want_, _darling? _How do you want me to ravage you? To make you whole?"

He presses harder, and my hand shoots up to my mouth to muffle my loud sigh.

"I don't know, please, just don't stop please Eddie, please..."

His face leaves mine, and the hand leaves my nether regions, and a high whine escapes me from the loss of heat and contact, but he comes back quickly. I'm afraid to look at him when I feel his hands spread my thighs apart and his warm breath right _there_. What is he going to- oh, **_FUCK._**

Dexterous lips and tongue caress every inch of me in that sacred zone, and Eddie has to use much of his strength to keep me from thrashing. The mere idea of having to restrain me in my throes of rapture, however, thrills him greatly, and his first shuddering breath escapes him. He plays me like a child's toy as he positions me this way and that to get the perfect angle and elicit those deep sighs, moans and curses from me.

He backs away after a few minutes and strips himself of his own clothing. His chest is broader than I'd imagined, well toned and not overly buff. Those strong arms take my head again, and he kisses me, and I taste myself on his breath.

"I could have you like this forever, Emma. Flushed and writhing beneath me. Oh, God."

I feel his erection pressing into my stomach, and my breath catches again. Eddie notices, and grins maliciously. He rolls off of the bed, enticing me to follow him to the edge. He has his length in his hand, stroking lazily. A hand reaches around my head and pulls me in to his thigh, next to it.

"Take it nice and easy now. Wrap your lips around it."

It doesn't take too much encouraging, though I am uncertain as to how it will feel now that I'm not being forced down on it. Carefully, I stick out my tongue and lick a stripe back up to the head, testing it out. It's definitely not a pleasant taste, but I can handle it. It's the length that I think will be a problem. But carefully, I take the first bit of him in my mouth. The satisfied moan and encouraging pet on my head is enough to spur me on. In a strange way, it feels good resting on my tongue, hot and pulsing. I dip in a little deeper, reveling in the grunts and quivers he gives in response.

"Good, that's a good girl. Just-just like that."

I feel hotter in between my legs at the sound of his pleased breaths and moans, and I'm not even being touched. I groan around Eddie, and his shocked whimper is music to my ears. When I change just so, his reactions change, and I commit every single one to memory. The quivers in his legs when I make it all the way in, the shallow thrusts as I lick the head, and when he grasps my head and groans. Every touch feels electric now.

Too soon, he pulls me off and pushes me back on the bed, and none too gently, but it makes it all the more exciting. He clambers back on top of me and kisses me deeply, longingly, nothing like the rushed pecks from earlier. Then I feel him poking at me, down there, with his member, and he presses harder into me, trying to slip in.

He senses my panic when I grip on to him tighter and my breath quickens. He backs away, pecking my forehead and reaching for something out of sight.

"You need to relax, _darling_, or this will hurt. Lift up for me." Eddie slips a pillow under my back, elevating my hips more and making my position better for entry. Then his hands slip between me again, but they're slick with something, and he carefully slips inside with two of them. The foreign feeling is almost too much to handle, feeling so intense and raking my body with pleasure. His fingers scissor me, preparing me and accustoming me for what is to come.

When he's sure I'm ready, he slicks himself up with the clear substance and comes close to me again.

"Take my hand Emma."

I obey without question, quivering with fear and excitement.

He enters me swiftly up to the hilt instantly, and he has to cover my mouth to muffle my scream. It hurts, God it hurts, but God, it feels wonderful to be so... so _filled_. Instinctively I wrap my legs around him, to keep him still and pull him in closer at the same time. He tries to move, but I don't budge or give him the freedom because of the fullness. It makes him angry, so he wraps his hands around my throat and spits disgusting, horrible things at me until I relax. But I don't mind. Eddie would never hurt me. Eddie loves me.

As much as he wants to move and just _destroy _me, he takes it slow for my sake, but is still rough when he presses in all the way again and again. Every thrust pushes a shaky breath out of me, every time he almost pulls out leaves me cold and empty. Everything in my peripheral vision is spinning out of control, and all I can see is Eddie above me, grinning and and panting as he gradually increases speed and force.

"Why so quiet, _darling?_" Eddie hoarsely groans. "I want to hear you _scream, beg _for me. There's no one to hear you but me. Come on, Emma. Let me _hear you sing._"

His breathy commands make it so I can't help but let go and cry out for all that he's giving me. clinging to him and, eventually, begging for more. He doesn't call me a whore, or bitch, or slut. He praises me for crying out for him, for more, _because _it's him giving it to me. Making me whole. Just as he always wanted.

The angle changes, and I feel a spark, and something starts building up, and Eddie senses it. He picks up the pace, almost inhumane at this point, and soon all I can feel is this glorious high, this glorious pulsing and sparking and _oh GOD don't stop!- Ah-!_

Every inch of me stiffens as my high comes crashing down on me, rendering me senseless except for the pleasure coursing through me and the aftershocks that rock me in tandem with Eddie's final thrusts. He gasps, groans, and stills as he fills me with his seed, shaking occasionally with over-stimulation. The feeling keeps me calm and collected even as he's puncturing my skin with his nails he's gripping my waist so tight.

When he comes back from his pleasure, he gazes down at me with sated eyes and a loving glint, and kisses me tenderly as he pulls out. After Eddie cleans us up, he pulls the covers over us and kisses me again. I feel weak in his arms, and tired, but happy.

"You were _wonderful, darling,_" Eddie croons into my ear. "We _must _do that again."

I agree wholeheartedly.

* * *

_**The end.**_


End file.
